One afternoon last week, although it was a weekday, Paris looked like Kansas on Sunday. Some 75% of the city's shops and cafes were closedthe junk dealer at the Bastille, the exclusive hosier in the Rue de Rivoli, the cheap stationer in the Faubourg St. Antoine, the swank Champs Elysées barber. It was not a strike; it was a protest. Many of the indignant proprietors had gone to a mass meeting of the classes moyennes, the middle classes, at the vast and dingy Vélodrome d'Hiver. The protest was not local; throughout the nation 85%...
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