under the arm, and a tuft of ribbons and laces on the breast. They were very gorgeous. They were singing a French song and throwing sweetmeats to the people, and the latter clapped their hands and shouted. Suddenly, on our left, we saw a man lift a child of five or six above the heads of the crowd,—a poor, little creature, who wept piteously, and flung her arms about as though in a fit. The man made his way to the gentlemen's chariot; one of the latter bent down, and the other said aloud:—
“Take this child; she has lost her mother in the crowd; hold her in your arms; the mother may not be far off, and she will catch sight of her: there is no other way.”
The gentleman took the child in his arms: all the rest stopped singing. The child screamed and struggled. The gentleman removed his mask. The chariot continued to move slowly. Meanwhile, as we were afterwards told, at the opposite side of the square a poor woman, half-crazed with despair, was forcing her way through the crowd, by main force, elbowing, and shrieking:—
“Maria! Maria! Maria! I have lost my little daughter! She has been stolen from me! They have suffocated my child!” And for a quarter of an hour she raved in this manner, straying now a little way in this direction, and then a little way in that, crushed by the throng through which she strove to force her way.
All this time, the gentleman on the car was holding the child pressed against the ribbons and laces on his breast, looking over the square, and trying to calm the poor creature, who covered her face with her
