The steps of the great building were thronged with men, and on the bases of the statuary orators harangued high heaven, for no man had the patience to listen.
"What is it ?" I asked my companion.
"News of a French victory; but it wants confirmation." [Illustration: A MAN CLAMBERED ON THE BOX BESIDE THE COACHMAN.

"I WILL SING YOU THE MARSEILLAISE!" HE SHOUTED.] Some who could sing, and others who only thought they could, were shouting the Marseillaise from any elevation that presented itself--an omnibus or a street refuse-box served equally well for these musicians.
"How on earth these people have ever grown to a great nation!" muttered John Turner, who sat in his carriage.

A man clambered on the box beside the coachman.
"I will sing you the Marseillaise!" he shouted.
"Thank you," replied John Turner.
But already the humour of the throng was changing, and some began to reflect.

In a few minutes doubt swept over them like a shower of rain, and the expression of their faces altered.

Almost immediately it was announced that the news of the victory had been a hoax.
"I am going to my office," said Turner, curtly.