with an expression of distrust and ill-humour. Seated in two open carriages, which pushed their way through the crowds behind us, Cerise and I recognised the ladies with the gipsy hats, accompanied by two gentlemen and vast piles of luggage-this latter alone told that they were English. But it was really alarming to see the suspicion and hatred with which they were looked upon, and painful to contemplate the look of distress on the face of the lady, the mother of the family: she at least was aware of the dangerous position of her party. And it was no wonder, for I heard her say, when standing near her inside the station, that an officer on guard at the Louvre had had the temerity to put his face nearly under the shading hat of one of her girls, call her a Prussian, and hiss at her. This surprised me very much, for the demoiselle was very pretty. But she showed him she was not alarmed, by drawing herself back with defiance, and saying, 'No, I am not a Prussian! and you know perfectly well I am an English lady.'

Madame mère, however, justly feared greater rudeness from the crowd; and I could not help sympathizing with her look of relief when we drove into the gates of the station.

But what a scene was here! Crowds of men-the flower of France, as one might say-going off as sheep go to be slain. And crowds of sorrowful

women, who, like us, the twins, had come to say our sad 'Adieux' and 'Au-revoirs.' I had tried to keep my thoughts off Emile, and the dangers into which he ran, till now. I had returned his embrace when in mamma's room he bade her and me farewell, and when he hung a little locket, containing his photograph, by a tiny gold chain round my neck, I had not shed a tear. But now the reality of parting was all around me wept, and so did I.

come;

We were made to wait for a long time before permission-so rarely given-was accorded us to go with our friends and see them into the carriages. And all around us was affliction, for, whilst speaking words of encouragement to each other, wives and husbands, mothers and sons, brothers and sisters, and lovers too, like Emile and myself, all wept without control, and vainly tried to tear themselves from each other's arms. Again and again one returned to embrace once more the other. Again and again a father lifted his little child from the ground to cover it with kisses and blessings.

Then I again saw the English family who stood waiting with us, for their gentlemen had much difficulty in obtaining their tickets and passing in their baggage,—and without tickets no one was admitted to the waiting-rooms; and I saw that great tears rolled down the face of the mother of the family. I could not refrain from addressing her-

'Ah, madame! you are sorry for us; you pity us in our distress?'

'Yes,' she replied; 'we are very sorry for your affliction.'

'Then you will tell your nation we want their help; you will ask them to come to our aid.'

'Ah no!' she said, 'I cannot wish my country to have anything to do with this frightful war; but I pity you very sincerely, and cannot but weep for these heart-breaking partings.'

'May I be allowed to assist in getting the tickets and baggage of these ladies?' said Henri, who was touched by their sympathy; but at this moment their gentlemen came and led them into the waiting-room, and we too were summoned to the platform within. Assembled there, before the train started, or the soldiers took their places, our men took off their hats, and we all sang the Chant du Départ,

'La victoire en chantant nous ouvre la barrière

La liberté guide nos pas,

Et du Nord au midi la trompette,

Guerrière a sonné l'heure des combats.

Tremblez, ennemis de la France.

Rois, ivres de sang et d'orgueil,

Le peuple souverain s'avance!
Tyrans, descendez au cercueil !
La République nous appel,
Sachons vaincre, ou sachons périr.'

And then amid the shouts of Au revoir,' the waving

of handkerchiefs and arms, the convoi, and with it my Emile, passed out of our view.

It had been an hour past the usual time of its departure, an hour too long of delay, but many hours too short for us, whom it parted from our dear friends.

Désiré was very tender to me, for he saw how I suffered, and he and Henri determined to endeavour to raise our hearts by taking us round by the Champs Elysées instead of going directly home. Here our tears were for the time exchanged for laughter, in the amusements of the merry-go-rounds, although Cerise and I only sat by and looked on, while our Messieurs played at going to the war on these toy-horses, or in these pretty ships.

'How I should like to go to the sea!' said Cerise. 'So should I,' I replied. What a charming family were these English!'

'But why do not the English come to our aid?' she replied. It was the cry of all France at that moment.

EXT morning all our men went quietly as usual to their occupation in the Halle au Vin, and mother took us with her to our

church. Here, when Monsieur le Curé had blessed her votive offering, and assured her that 'such a mark of piety would be truly acceptable to the good God,' she hung her golden cross which, with its chain, was valued at two hundred francs, beside the altar of the blessed Virgin. I also then vowed a silver heart, purchased with my own earnings, for the safe return of my cousin, Emile David. And then Cerise and I returned to the usually tranquil course of our lives, she informing me that, on the previous evening, when our brother walked forward with me in the retirement of the Tuileries garden, Henri, who walked behind with her, had made her an offer of