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I was with my mentor Brossard and my brother Edward one night in June when a "Madeleine-Bastille" omnibus was overturned on the Boulevard Montmartre and two or three newspaper kiosks were added to it by way of forming a barricade, the purpose of which was by no means clear.
There were armed men standing inside them, armed men on the platforms and steps, armed men even on the roofs and it was indeed a strange sight to see Madeleine-Bastille and the Galeries Lafayette out here in the open country, jammed full of grim infantrymen preparing for the fray. Suddenly a tremendous explosion rent the air and shook the ground so that the horses stopped and trembled.
Day by day the aspect of the streets becomes more normal, for the reason that more and more vehicles are freed from military service and can now resume their ordinary duties of transporting the public. Pending the return of the motor-omnibuses, a service of char-a-bancs has been started on the boulevards, which reminds Parisians of the days of the popular "Madeleine-Bastille" omnibus.
The clumsy three-horse omnibuses Madeleine-Bastille crowded inside and out with passengers and with their neatly uniformed drivers and conductors, so different in appearance and manner from our own slovenly street-car rowdies, were endeavouring to breast a perfect sea of fiacres which, like a swarm of mosquitoes, appeared to be trying to go in every direction at once, their drivers vociferating torrents of vituperous abuse on every man, woman or beast unfortunate enough to get in their way.
With these industrial vehicles requisitioned by mobilization were others from the public service which produced in Desnoyers the same effect as a familiar face in a throng of strangers. On their upper parts were the names of their old routes: "Madeleine-Bastille, Passy-Bourne," etc.
The clumsy three-horse omnibuses Madeleine-Bastille crowded inside and out with passengers and with their neatly uniformed drivers and conductors, so different in appearance and manner from our own slovenly street-car rowdies, were endeavouring to breast a perfect sea of fiacres which, like a swarm of mosquitoes, appeared to be trying to go in every direction at once, their drivers vociferating torrents of vituperous abuse on every man, woman or beast unfortunate enough to get in their way.
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