When he alighted from the train which brought him, he said to those who
had assembled to give him a fitting greeting, that he had come to do his
duty in the hour of danger, that duty being to save Paris, which meant
more than saving France, for it implied saving the world itself--Paris
being the capital of civilization, the centre of mankind. Naturally
enough, those fine sentiments were fervently applauded by the great poet's
admirers, and when he had installed himself with his companions in an open
carriage, two or three thousand people escorted him processionally along
the Boulevards. It was night-time, and the cafes were crowded and the
footways covered with promenaders as the _cortege_ went by, the escort
singing now the "Marseillaise" and now the "Chant du Depart," whilst on
every side shouts of "Vive Victor Hugo!" rang out as enthusiastically as
if the appointed "Saviour of Paris" were indeed actually passing. More
than once I saw the illustrious poet stand up, uncover, and wave his hat
in response to the acclamations, and I then particularly noticed the
loftiness of his forehead, and the splendid crop of white hair with which
it was crowned.
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