CHAPTER XXIII.
Wrecked "Il ne faut confier son secret qu' a celui qui n'a pas cherche a le deviner." "I do not care whether Paris is in the hands of the Communards or the other bunglers so long as the Bank of France holds good," said John Turner; and, indeed, I afterwards learnt that his whole fortune depended on this turn of the wheel.
We were travelling down to Hopton, and it was the last week of May.

We bore to Madame de Clericy the news that at last the government troops had made their entry into Paris and were busy fighting in the streets there, hunting from pillar to post the remnant of the Communard rabble.

The reign of terror which had lasted two and a half months was ended, and Paris lay like a ship that having passed through a great storm lies at last in calm water, battered and beaten.

Priceless treasures had perished by the incendiarism of the wild mob--the Tuileries were burnt, the Louvre had barely escaped a like fate.

The matchless Hotel de Ville had vanished, and a thousand monuments and relics were lost for ever.