At night he saw the processions passing through the boulevards. The
tricolored flag was fluttering its colors under the electric lights. The
cafes were overflowing with people, sending forth from doors and windows
the excited, musical notes of patriotic songs. Suddenly, amidst applause
and cheers, the crowd would make an opening in the street. All Europe
was passing here; all Europe--less the arrogant enemy--and was saluting
France in her hour of danger with hearty spontaneity. Flags of different
nations were filing by, of all tints of the rainbow, and behind them
were the Russians with bright and mystical eyes; the English, with
heads uncovered, intoning songs of religious gravity; the Greeks and
Roumanians of aquiline profile; the Scandinavians, white and red; the
North Americans, with the noisiness of a somewhat puerile enthusiasm;
the Hebrews without a country, friends of the nation of socialistic
revolutions; the Italians, as spirited as a choir of heroic tenors;
the Spanish and South Americans, tireless in their huzzas. They were
students and apprentices who were completing their courses in the
schools and workshops, and refugees who, like shipwrecked mariners, had
sought shelter on the hospitable strand of Paris. Their cheers had no
special significance, but they were all moved by their desire to show
their love for the Republic. And Desnoyers, touched by the sight,
felt that France was still of some account in the world, that she yet
exercised a moral force among the nations, and that her joys and sorrows
were still of interest to humanity.

"In Berlin and Vienna, too," he said to himself, "they must also be
cheering enthusiastically at this moment . . . but Germans only, no
others. Assuredly no foreigner is joining in their demonstrations."

The nation of the Revolution, legislator of the rights of mankind, was
harvesting the gratitude of the throngs, but was beginning to feel