Elysees, which were crowded with loungers, gay and careless, as if there
had been no disaster at Sedan, no overthrow of an Empire, no enemy on its
road to Paris.

In fact the Parisians, at once the most incredulous and the most
credulous of all populations, believed that the Prussians would never be
so impertinent as to come in sight of the gates. Something would occur
to stop them! The king had declared he did not war on Frenchmen, but on
the Emperor: the Emperor gone, the war was over. A democratic republic
was instituted. A horrible thing in its way, it is true; but how could
the Pandour tyrant brave the infection of democratic doctrines among his
own barbarian armies? Were not placards, addressed to our "German
brethren," posted upon the walls of Paris, exhorting the Pandours to
fraternise with their fellow-creatures? Was not Victor Hugo going to
publish "a letter to the German people"? Had not Jules Favre graciously
offered peace, with the assurance that "France would not cede a stone of
her fortresses--an inch of her territory? She would pardon the invaders
and not march upon Berlin!" To all these, and many more such
incontestable proofs, that the idea of a siege was moonshine, did
Enguerrand and Victor listen as they joined group after group of their
fellow-countrymen: nor did Paris cease to harbour such pleasing
illusions, amusing itself with piously laying crowns at the foot of the
statue of Strasbourg, swearing "they would be worthy of their Alsatian
brethren," till on the 19th of September the last telegram was received,
and Paris was cut of from the rest of the world by the iron line of the
Prussian invaders. "Tranquil and terrible," says Victor Hugo, "she
awaits the invasion! A volcano needs no assistance."