crises de nerfs, rioting, political strife, and panics. Paris must be
handled firmly, sobered down by every possible means, kept from the
knowledge of painful facts, spoon-fed with cheerful communiqués
whatever the truth might be, guarded by strong but hidden force,
ready at a moment's notice to smash up a procession, to arrest
agitators, to quell a rebellion, and to maintain the strictest order.

Quietly, but effectively, General Galièni, the military governor of "the
entrenched camp of Paris," as it was called, proceeded to place the
city under martial law in order to strangle any rebellious spirit which
might be lurking in its hiding places. Orders and regulations were issued
in a rapid volley fire which left Paris without any of its old life or
liberty. The terrasses were withdrawn from the cafés. No longer could
the philosophic Parisian sip his petit verre and watch the drama of the
boulevards from the shady side of a marble-topped table. He must sit
indoors like an Englishman, in the darkness of his public-house, as
though ashamed of drinking in the open. Absinthe was banned by a
thunder-stroke from the Invalides, where the Military Governor had
established his headquarters, and Parisians who had acquired the
absinthe habit trembled in every limb at this judgment which would
reduce them to physical and moral wrecks, as creatures of the drug
habit suddenly robbed of their nerve-controlling tabloids. It was an
edict welcomed by all men of self-control who knew that France had
been poisoned by this filthy liquid, but they too became a little pale
when all the cafés of Paris were closed at eight o'clock.

"Sapristi! Qu'est qu'on peut faire les soirs? On ne peut pas dormir
tout le temps! Et la guerre durera peut-être trois mois!"

To close the cafés at eight o'clock seemed a tragic infliction to the