been at length frightened by his own stories and by his imagination.  Steadily he became more and more curious.  He watched me eat, he watched me drink, but he would take nothing himself.  He wanted to go out again.  He must have movement, he said, and he insisted on riding to Monseigneur F——­’s Pei-t’ang Cathedral.  He had not been there yet, and a curiosity suddenly seized him to see the place where others had suffered in the same way as ourselves.  That reminded me, too, that everybody had almost forgotten about this Roman Catholic cathedral, forgotten completely because they were now at their ease.  It had been two whole days before troops were even sent there to see that all was well, and even these only went because a priest had been killed half way between the Legations and the Cathedral.  I decided to go, too.  It was almost a duty to make this pilgrimage.  So we quickly left again.

For a few minutes after leaving the occupied area we threaded streets with men from the relief columns in full view, but soon enough we found ourselves in treacherous roadways, all littered with the ruins and the inexpressible confusion which come of desultory street-fighting spread over long weeks.  To me this was a new quarter—­one which I had not been near since the month of May, and soon it was equally clear that it was still a very evil place.  Only yesterday men who had broken away from the French corps were found here, some dead and some horribly mutilated.  Yet in spite of this the same signs of mock friendliness greeted our eyes on every side—­those fluttering little flags of all nations, so rudely made from whatever cloth had been handy.  Every building displayed some flag—­every single one; but there now were other signs, too—­signs which showed that all this quarter had been picked so clean that it was of no more value to marauders.  Little notices, some in French, some in English, and a few in other tongues, were scratched on the walls or written on dirty scraps of paper and nailed up.  Half in jest and half in earnest, these curious notices said all manner of things.  For the wretched people who had been plundered or otherwise ill used had already fallen into the habit of asking from the soldiery for some scrap of writing which would prove that they had contributed their quota, and might, therefore, be exempted from further looting.  Scrawled in soldiers’ hands were such things as, “Defense absolue de piller; nous autres avons tout pris”; or, “No looting permitted.  This show is cleaned out.”  Everywhere these signs were to be seen.  Here they must have worked fast and furiously....