There was but a scanty audience; in fact all the best places in the
house were empty.

It may easily be imagined that, at a moment like this, most of those
who had a stake in the country were pondering over the great and real
drama that was then taking place. Napoleon had fled to Rochfort; the
wreck of his army had retreated beyond the Loire; no list of killed
and wounded had appeared; and, strange to say, the official journal
of Paris had made out that the great Imperial army at Waterloo had gained
a victory. There were, nevertheless, hundreds of people in Paris who
knew to the contrary, and many were already aware that they had lost
relations and friends in the great battle.

Louis XVIII. arrived, as well as I can remember, at the Tuileries on
the 26th of July, 1815, and his reception by the Parisians was a singular
illustration of the versatile character of the French nation, and the
sudden and often inexplicable changes which take place in the feeling
of the populace. When the Bourbon, in his old lumbering state carriage,
drove down the Boulevards, accompanied by the Garde du Corps, the people
in the streets and at the windows displayed the wildest joy, enthusiastically
shouting "Vive le Roi!" amidst the waving of hats and handkerchiefs,
while white sheets or white rags were made to do the duty of a Bourbon
banner. The king was dressed in a blue coat with a red collar, and
wore also a white waistcoat and a cocked hat with a white cockade in
it. His portly and good-natured appearance seemed to be appreciated
by the crowd, whom he saluted with a benevolent smile. I should here
mention that two great devotees of the Church sat opposite to the King
on this memorable occasion. The cortege proceeded slowly down the Rue
de la Paix until the Tuileries was reached, where a company of the
Guards, together with a certain number of the Garde Nationale of Paris,