I sprang to the bell and rang it violently.
"The horses! The horses!" I cried. "God in heaven! are they never coming?"
"The horses are at the door, monsieur."
I rushed out, seized my hat, which the man handed me; he opened the door, and there stood a closed carriage; two powerful greys were harnessed to it, and Joubert was on the box.
"Joubert," I said, "drive as you never have driven before. My life is in your hands!" Then we started.
And now, as if called up by nightmare, the crowd in the streets, which I had forgotten, impeded our progress. The Rue St. Honoré was like a fair. As, sitting in the carriage, that was compelled to go at a walking pace, I looked out of the window at the senseless illuminations, the brutal or foolish faces, I could have welcomed at once a German army that would have swept a clear path for me.
We passed the gates of Paris without hindrance, and then down a long street lined with houses. It was after ten o'clock now, but these houses, in which dwelt poor folk, were ablaze from basement to garret.
The good news of the war had spread itself here; the great national rejoicing had found an echo even in this street, where men slept sound as a rule, as men sleep who have passed the day labouring in a factory.
The horses had now settled into a swinging trot. Half a dozen times I lowered the window to urge Joubert, but I refrained. There was still twenty miles before us. If one of our horses broke down, it was highly improbable that we could get another.