One December evening three months afterward Count Muffat was strolling in the Passage des Panoramas.

The evening was very mild, and owing to a passing shower, the passage had just become crowded with people.

There was a perfect mob of them, and they thronged slowly and laboriously along between the shops on either side.

Under the windows, white with reflected light, the pavement was violently illuminated.

A perfect stream of brilliancy emanated from white globes, red lanterns, blue transparencies, lines of gas jets, gigantic watches and fans, outlined in flame and burning in the open.