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Nota. La manière dont notre voyageur annonce ici la relation du Napolitain, annonce combien peu il y croyoit; et en cela le bon sens qu'il a montré jusqu'

In the end, on that account, and in order to be nearer to a club to which we both belonged, we emigrated to the Cafe Napolitain. At every moment the numbers of the crowd increased.

I met at the Cafe Napolitain, a favorite resort of journalists, my friend Laurence Jerrold, chief Paris correspondent of the London Daily Telegraph. We spoke of the stories showing the amazing ignorance in which German officers have been kept regarding the situation. Mr.

"Norbert de Varenne," said he, "the poet, the author of 'Les Soleils Morts, a very expensive man. Every poem he gives us costs three hundred francs and the longest has not two hundred lines. But let us go into the Napolitain, I am getting thirsty." When they were seated at a table, Forestier ordered two glasses of beer.

We were near the Napolitain and there he and I sat down and began to talk as only we two can talk together after long separation.

He wrote them to the Cafe Americain, to Bignon's, to Tortoni's, to the Maison Doree, to the Cafe Riche, to the Helder, to the Cafe Anglais, to the Napolitain, everywhere, everywhere. He wrote them to all the officials of the republican government, from the magistrates to the ministers. And he was happy, perfectly happy. One morning as he was starting out to go to the council it began to rain.

I had a couple of days to spend in Paris, and, like a man on the wing, had no particular engagements. We met, my host and I, at the Napolitain. He knew everybody, and was everybody's favourite.

All my instincts made me hope for the escape of the poor beast, vermin though it might be. One day as I was sitting in the Cafe Napolitain on one of my brief excursions to Paris from the turmoil in the wake of war, I heard shouts and saw a crowd of people rushing towards a motor-car coming down the Boulevard des Italiens. One word was repeated with a long-drawn sibilance: "Espion! Espion!"

He wrote them to the Cafe Americain, to Bignon's, to Tortoni's, to the Maison Doree, to the Cafe Riche, to the Helder, to the Cafe Anglais, to the Napolitain, everywhere, everywhere. He wrote them to all the officials of the republican government, from the magistrates to the ministers. And he was happy, perfectly happy. One morning as he was starting out to go to the council it began to rain.