The train which bore me out of the arc of the Prussian fire at
Strasbourg passed in between the fortifications of Paris the next
morning about eleven o'clock. Ten minutes later I was in a closed cab
on my way to the headquarters of the Imperial Military Police,
temporarily housed in the Luxembourg Palace.
The day was magnificent; sunshine flooded the boulevards, and a few
chestnut-trees in the squares had already begun to blossom for the
second time in the season; there seemed to be no prophecy of autumn in
sky or sunlight.
The city, as I saw it from the open window of my cab, appeared to be
in a perfectly normal condition. There were, perhaps, a few more
national-guard soldiers on the streets, a few more brightly colored
posters, notices, and placards on the dead walls, but the life of the
city itself had not changed at all; the usual crowds filled the
boulevards, the usual street cries sounded, the same middle-aged
gentlemen sat in front of the cafés reading the same daily papers, the
same waiters served them the same drinks; rows of cabs were drawn up
where cabs are always to be found, and the same policemen dawdled in
gossip with the same flower-girls. I caught the scent of early winter
violets in the fresh Parisian breeze.
Was this the city that Buckhurst looked upon as already doomed?
On the marble bridge gardeners were closing up the morning
flower-market; blue-bloused men with jointed hose sprinkled the
asphalt in front of the Palais de Justice; students strolled under the
trees from the School of Medicine to the Sorbonne; the Luxembourg
fountain tossed its sparkling sheets of spray among the lotus.
All this I saw, yet a sinister foreboding oppressed me, and I could
not shake it off even in this bright city where September was
promising only a new lease of summer and the white spikes of chestnut
blossoms hummed with eager bees.
Physically I felt well enough; the cramped sleep in the dark
compartment, far from exhausting me, had not only rested me, but had
also brought me an appetite which I meant to satisfy as soon as might
be. As for my back, it was simply uncomfortable, but all effects of
the shock had disappeared--unless this heavy mental depression was due
to it.
My cab was now entering the Palace of the Luxembourg by the great arch
facing the Rue de Tournon; the line sentinels halted us; I left the
cab, crossed the parade in front of the guard-house, turned to the
right, and climbed the stairs straight to my own quarters, which were
in the west wing of the palace, and consisted of a bedroom, a working
cabinet, and a dressing-room.
But I did not enter my door or even glance at it; I continued straight
on, down the corridor to a door, on the ground-glass panes of which
was printed in red lettering:
HEADQUARTERS
IMPERIAL MILITARY POLICE
SAFE DEPOSIT
The sentinel interrogated me for form's sake, although he knew me; I
entered, passed rapidly along the face of the steel cage behind which
some officers sat on high stools, writing, and presented myself at the
guichet marked, "Foreign Division."
There was no military clerk in attendance there, and, to my surprise,
the guichet was closed.
However, a very elegant officer strolled up to the guichet as I laid
my bag of diamonds on the glass shelf, languidly unlocked the steel
window-gate, and picked up the bag of jewels.
The officer was Mornac, the Emperor's alter ego, or âme damnée, who
had taken over the entire department the very day I left Paris for the
frontier. Officially, I could not recognize him until I presented
myself to Colonel Jarras with my report; so I saluted his uniform,
standing at attention in my filthy clothes, awaiting the usual
question and receipt.
"Name and number?" inquired Mornac, indolently.