apparition in the sky. On the heights of the Sacré Cœur inhabitants of
Montmartre gathered and thrilled to the flashing of the searchlights
and the bursting of shrapnel.

The bugle-calls bidding everybody stay indoors had brought Paris out
of bed and out of doors. The most bad-tempered people in the city
were those who had slept through the alerte, and in the morning
received the news with an incredulous "Quoi? Non, ce n'est pas
possible! Les Zeppelins sont venus? Je n'ai pas entendu le moindre
bruit!"

Some houses were smashed in the outer suburbs. A few people had
been wounded in their beds. Unexploded bombs were found in
gardens and rubbish heaps. After all, the Zeppelin raid had been a
grotesque failure in the fine art of murder, and the casualty list was so
light that Paris jeered at the death-ships which had come in the night.
Count Zeppelin was still the same old blagueur. His precious airships
were ridiculous.

A note of criticism crept into the newspapers and escaped the
censor. Where were the French aviators who had sworn to guard
Paris from such a raid? There were unpleasant rumours that these
adventurous young gentlemen had taken the night off with the ladies
of their hearts. It was stated that the telephone operator who ought to
have sent the warning to them was also making la bombe, or
sleeping away from his post. It was beyond a doubt that certain well-
known aviators had been seen in Paris restaurants until closing
time... Criticism was killed by an official denial from General Galièni,
who defended those young gentlemen under his orders, and affirmed
that each man was at the post of duty. It was a denial which caused