know," is the statement made by M. Malvy, Minister of the Interior, as
he stepped into his motor-car at the Elysee Palace on his way home this
evening after the meeting of the Council of National Defence.
Remarkable, impressive silence prevails everywhere. If people speak, it
seems to be in a whisper. Never before was Paris so full of
motor-ambulances, all driving hurriedly hither and thither, bearing
nurses or Red Cross attendants, but never a wounded. The whole of the
Rue Francois-Premier is lined on both sides with Red Cross motor-cars.
The railway stations have an unusual appearance, with hundreds of wooden
booths forming a sort of barrier to approaches. The calm, confident,
silent, patriotic expectation augurs well for the future and vividly
contrasts with the noisy, braggadocio spirit of 1870. Paris at the
present moment is the most orderly, well-behaved city in the world.

I met at the Cafe Napolitain, a favorite resort of journalists, my
friend Laurence Jerrold, chief Paris correspondent of the _London
Daily Telegraph_. We spoke of the stories showing the amazing
ignorance in which German officers have been kept regarding the
situation. Mr. Jerrold told me that a relative of his, who is a French
officer, saw yesterday two Prussian lieutenants, who, as prisoners of
war, were being taken around Paris, to a town in western France. Both
spoke French perfectly. At Juvisy station, where the train stopped, they
said to the French officer: "Of course, we know why you are taking us
around Paris and not _into_ Paris. Paris is in a state of
revolution, and you don't want us to see what is going on there."
Argument followed; the Prussian officers persisted that Paris was in
revolt, that France stood alone, that England had declared neutrality,
that an Italian army had already crossed the French frontier and had
invaded the department of Haute Savoie, etc. The French officer rushed
to the waiting-room, bought all the newspapers he could find, and