They
rode not two rods from us. There was not a hat taken off, not a single
shout, not a "_Vive l'Empereur_? Without a single token of
greeting or applause, he rode through the ever-forming, ever-dissolving
avenue of people--the abhorred, the tolerated tyrant." Why do they not
cry out?" I said to the coachman, "Why do they not cry, '_Vive
l'Empereur_'?" A most expressive shrug was the answer, and "I do
not know. I suppose, because they do not choose."
Thursday, June 16. Immediately after breakfast we were to visit
Chateau de Corbeville. The carriage came, and H., Mrs. C., and W.
entered. I mounted the box with the "_cocker_," as usual. To be
shut up in a box, and peep out at the window while driving through
such scenes, is horrible. By the way, our party would have been
larger, but for the arrest of Monsieur F., an intimate friend of the
family, which took place at five o'clock in the morning.
He was here yesterday in fine spirits, and he and his wife were to
have joined our party. His arrest is on some political suspicion, and
as the result cannot be foreseen, it casts a shadow over the spirits
of our household.
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