In Paris, in July, a raging mob had stormed the Bastille, provoking circumspect aristocrats to uproot themselves and take refuge abroad. The roof was partially untiled; the chimneys were tottering; the side-walls bulged, and were supported by a piece of timber propped against the opposite house; the glass in most of the windows was broken, and its place supplied with paper; while, in some cases, the very frames of the windows had been destroyed, and the apertures were left free to the airs of heaven. She was not very clear about the position and duties of a chorus-girl, but it certainly had the air of being a last desperate resort. Twelve years ago! It is an awful retrospect. "But, I half suspect, of your father.
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