I elbowed my way through the crush towards the Place Vendôme. My own affairs were dwarfed, for the moment, by the magnitude of the event and the furnace roar of the rejoicing city. Jubilant and ferocious, lustful and bloodthirsty, triumphant as the blare of a trumpet, terrible as the voice of a tiger, the gusts of sound swept the heavens. It was the voice of the Second Empire, not the voice of a people; it was cruelty, lust, and organised vice crying aloud to God for blood.
God heard it, and made swift answer.
I arrived at the Place Vendôme to find a surprise awaiting me.
Franzius and Eloise were there. They had brought luggage with them, which was in the hall. The servant who opened the door for me told me they were in the library, and I ran there to meet them.
"Toto," cried Eloise; then, holding me at a little distance and staring at me as though I were a ghost: "What has happened to you?"
I caught a reflection of myself in the mirror above the fireplace, and for the first time I recognised the change in myself. Haggard, white, and drawn, my face was no longer the face of a young man.
"Never mind me," I replied. "Why have you left Etiolles? Have you any news?"
"My friend," said Franzius, answering for her, "there is no news—only news of war."
"Ah, yes," I said. "War. But tell me why you have left Etiolles?"