ABSTRACT
The Bourse at Paris is outwardly far too respectable a place for those unseemly scenes which are said to disturb the ordinary progress of stock-broking. An artist would admire it as a Greek Temple, and the ordinary excursionist from London frequently mistakes it for the Madeleine. The intense silence, which had become almost painful whilst these remarks fell from the lips of M. Motteville, now gave place to a scene of indescribable commotion. It was observed by a very old member of the House that never in his recollection, not even during those terrible clays that preceded the Franco-German war, had he seen or heard such excitement, such absolute confusion, such clatter of tongues as upon this occasion. For Jerome had cleared the air in the masterful way peculiar to himself. He had refused to relieve the situation when the Chamber was asked to express its opinion. He had permitted his enemies to rush into headlong destruction.
