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his head out of the house and beckoned me to enter.
    “Colonel De Porte will see you now,” he said. “If you would be so kind as to tell me your name, I will introduce you to him.”
    “I am Colonel Maynard Snodgrass,” I said, giving myself a military rank appropriate to my uniform and sufficiently senior to afford me courteous treatment from the military officers with whom I was dealing. “I have been sent by the army of the United States of America to observe the war.”
    At hearing that my military rank was superior to his, Colbert’s attitude toward me immediately changed. He drew himself to attention, saluted and then bowed. “Your servant, sir,” he said politely.
    He stood back deferentially and pointed toward the door. “This way, please, sir,” he said.
    I entered the building, the major behind me. The sentries at either side of the door saluted me, apparently at a sign from Colbert. I responded with a salute which was more like a wave, a gesture I recalled seeing in a movie about the French Army in World War I.
    The building was almost as cold as it was outside. Dusk had fallen, and burning candles in the hallway cast only a feeble light. The thick Oriental carpets on the floor, dark wooden paneling on the walls and rich furnishings suggested that the building had at one time been the home of a wealthy family.
    Behind me, I heard Colbert asking me to stop. As soon as I comprehended his meaning I halted. To my right was a closed door. The major leaned forward and knocked on it. He then opened it and stepped back, allowing me to precede him.
    My first impression of the room was of the roaring fire in the large fireplace. It threw out so much heat that for the first time since sunset, I was not cold. In front of me was a large desk, covered with papers. A flickering candle cast a dim light on the papers.
    Seated at the desk was a thin man in a blue uniform resembling Colbert’s. His head was shaven and beneath his beaked nose was a thin military moustache. He sat so erect and so silently that he might have been a statue.
    The major walked to the desk, saluted and said, “Sir, may I present Colonel Maynard Snodgrass of the Army of the United States of America.
    Colonel Snodgrass,” he said, turning to me, “May I present Colonel Henri De Porte, commander of the south-eastern sector of the defenses of Paris.”
    I stepped forward to stand beside Colbert, saluted and said, “I am honored to meet you, Colonel De Porte.”
    The Colonel stood and saluted me. “I welcome you in the name of the garrison of Paris,” he said. “How are things at Gambetta’s headquarters? Do you carry any message from him?”
    Leon Gambetta, I recalled, had become provisional president of France when Napoleon III abdicated. In October l870, Gambetta had escaped from the besieged capital by balloon to lead the resistance to the invading Germans from his new headquarters in southern France.
    “I regret to say, Colonel, that I have not had the pleasure of visiting President Gambetta’s headquarters. I was sent by the American Army to observe the war. I flew directly here from the United States in my balloon, a new, experimental model. I expected to fly over Paris and then return directly to America without stopping. I set down in Paris only because my balloon was damaged by German fire and it is necessary for me to repair it.”
    “I am sorry,” De Porte said softly, more to himself than to me. “I had hoped that Gambetta was sending an army to break the siege and relieve us. No matter. The garrison of Paris will hold out until help comes.”
    I recalled from my history books that Paris had finally been forced to surrender in January l871, but decided it would be foolish of me to inform De Porte of that fact. I stood there silently as De Porte struggled to regain his composure.
    After a few seconds, he lifted his head and turned to me. “In any event, your arrival here is most welcome. I would like to thank you for your