some talk of having her arrested; for the fact of her not speaking Parisian, or even patois French as a native, had been discovered; and, as before observed, Paris had become absurdly suspicious.

'If you are Irish, why then do you remain in Paris? Why have you not gone home with your country people, Madame?' they asked.

'Because my husband's business keeps him in Paris; and we are your good friends.'

'How do we know that?

You'd better come to

the Prefêt of Police and answer for yourself.' So these rude persons spoke.

Cerise whispered to Henri that she knew who the lady was—that she was under the protection of the English Ambassador.

'He is gone away,' said Henri, 'to Tours.'

'So have our own governors,' replied Cerise; 'but that does not say they don't protect us still.'

Henri then engaged the crowd to let the lady go on her way; and mother offered to see her safe to her home, which was close by, asking her as she walked beside her- Where, then, are your friends? Has Madame any friends?'

'Yes, plenty-but in Ireland,' she said.

'Ah, poor little thing!' said mother; 'how could · they leave you here, then? It was thoughtless. How shall you do now?'

'As well as my neighbours-trusting in God and the Holy Mother.'

Eh, that is well! but I am sorry for you, pauvre petite.

We frequently met this lady afterwards, and we saw that she shared in our sufferings; but people had learned to know her, and every one wondered at the bravery of 'the poor little thing,' who might have returned to her friends before the city was closed if she would, only that she could not consent to leave her husband there alone. Ah, me! there were many noble hearts shut in with us within those terrible Prussian lines. For now we were truly shut in. No more posts from our friends in the country; no more omnibusses rushing to or from the railways. This was but the beginning.

CHAPTER XX.

V

LIFE DURING THE SIEGE.

FTER the forenoon walk of my last chapter we went frequently to see the salutation of the city of Strasbourg, whose patient

bravery was such an example to us,—to us, who were now exhibiting an example of patriotic firmness and fidelity in the eyes of the whole world, fixed on us in profound admiration. This was what the siege was now doing for us.

The Prussians had not come in like a flood, rushing over our city before she was prepared to receive them, thank God! Nor had they been able to bring those terrible guns, of which we had heard, near enough to bombard Paris herself. So that we went in and out as usual; our streets were crowded; not now with foreigners, pleasure-seekers, artists, fashion hunters; still less with royalty and diplomacy. There were

few fine carriages now to be met, few announcements of grand entertaiments; but the French people walked through her avenues, her soldiers crowded the Boulevards, her well-filled shops were open, her cafés gaily lighted and filled with a noisy and singing multitude. True, we knew that these tents erected in the Tuileries gardens were there because there was no longer room in the hospital or ambulance for the wounded. True, it was whispered that all the paintings of the Louvre galleries and those of the Luxembourg had been hid away in cellars; that none but mock jewellery and electro-plate gleamed in the windows of the Palais Royal or the Boulevard Montmartre; that all the fine laces, ribbons, and silks of the Magasins du Louvre had been sent (it might be to the catacombs) for safety. What did it all matter? Paris was Paris still; laughing in the midst of danger, proud of herself, beautiful, and beloved by her sons.

We had to pay double prices now for our meat and butter; but then we killed our pigeons and our spare chickens, and sold them for three times their usual price en revanche. Bread was good and plentiful, and wine was cheap. So that we had not cared how long the Prussians amused themselves with the imagination that Paris would surrender, were it not for receiving no news of our relatives in the country.

It was now the middle of October, and we pleased

ourselves roasting chestnuts, and employed ourselves making charpie for Sister Célestine to send to the nuns at the ambulance of the Opera; for the Emperor's splendid new Opera was now partly an ambulance, partly a storehouse; and, strangest of all, a reservoir of fresh water.

'Yes, truly,' said Sister Célestine, 'it is a most astounding fact, that a fine spring of pure water has rushed forth and filled all the cellars of the huge building with an inexhaustible supply of cold water. Is it not an intervention of Providence in behalf of our city-the saints are good, although our country's sins have insured her punishment.'

'I should like to see it so much,' I said; 'it seems to me like one of those miracles of which Monsignore Darboy and the Père Hyacinthe preach, and of which Monsieur the Curé reads in the Gospel on Sunday.'

'I am going early to-morrow with a parcel of charpie and some necessaries for our Sisters, and if you like you can come with me, my dear Aurée.'

I was charmed, and Cerise said she would come also. Hubert was become extremely useful; for he could use his good hand so as to help mother, to whom he showed the attachment of a child. He could turn the handle of the well, and carry in wood, and do many things to save us trouble.

He had also taken in the fact that it was useless