8.] was almost imminent. Yet on that morning of
Revolution he appeared as cool as a cucumber.
I quitted the Louvre, going towards the Rue Royale, it having been
arranged with my father that we should take _dejeuner_ at a well-known
restaurant there. It was called "His Lordship's Larder," and was
pre-eminently an English house, though the landlord bore the German name
of Weber. He and his family were unhappily suffocated in the cellars of
their establishment during one of the conflagrations which marked the
Bloody Week of the Commune. At the time when I met my father, that is
about noon, there was nothing particularly ominous in the appearance of
the streets along which I myself passed. It was a fine bright Sunday, and,
as was usual on such a day, there were plenty of people abroad. Recently
enrolled National Guards certainly predominated among the men, but the
latter included many in civilian attire, and there was no lack of women
and children. As for agitation, I saw no sign of it.
As I was afterwards told, however, by Delmas, the landlord of the Cafe
Gretry, [Note] matters were very different that morning on the Boulevards,
and particularly on the Boulevard Montmartre.
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