But all this great _eclat_, all this triumphant power, does not prevent little incidents from happening in Paris, like the following, which honest _badauds_, witnesses of the fact, will tell you, musingly.

Two men were walking in the street, talking of their business or their private affairs.

One of them, referring to some knave or other, of whom he thought he had reason to complain, exclaimed: "He is a wretch, a swindler, a rascal!" A police agent who heard these last words, cried out: "Monsieur, you are speaking of the President; I arrest you." And now, will M.Bonaparte be Emperor, or will he not?
A pretty question! He is master,--he is Cadi, Mufti, Bey, Dey, Sultan, Grand Khan, Grand Lama, Great Mogul, Great Dragon, Cousin to the Sun, Commander of the Faithful, Shah, Czar, Sofi, and Caliph.

Paris is no longer Paris, but Bagdad; with a Giaffar who is called Persigny, and a Scheherazade who is in danger of having her head chopped off every morning, and who is called _Le Constitutionnel_.

M.Bonaparte may do whatever he likes with property, families, and persons.