he
window, and began to shout to the soldiers, "Long live Prince Napoleon!
Long live the Emperor!"

There were five of us, and we overpowered this cry by our persistent
protest, "Down with Louis Bonaparte! Down with the traitors!"

The soldiers listened in gloomy silence. A corporal turned with a
threatening air towards us, and shook his sword. The crowd looked on in
bewilderment.

What passed within me at that moment? I cannot tell! I was in a
whirlwind. I had at the same time yielded to a calculation, finding the
opportunity good, and to a burst of rage, finding the encounter insolent.

A woman cried out to us from the pavement, "You will get yourselves cut
to pieces." I vaguely imagined that some collision was about to ensue,
and that, either from the crowd or from the Army, the spark would fly
out. I hoped for a sword-cut from the soldiers or a shout of anger from
the people. In short I had obeyed rather an instinct than an idea.

But nothing came of it, neither the sword-cut nor the shout of anger. The
soldiers did not bestir themselves and the people maintained silence. Was
it too late? Was it too soon?

The mysterious man of the Elysee had not foreseen the event of an insult
to his name being thrown in the very face of the soldiers. The soldiers
had no orders. They received them that evening. This was seen on the
morrow.

In another moment the regiment broke into a gallop, and the omnibus
resumed its journey. As the cuirassiers filed past us Arnauld (de
l'Ariege), still leaning out of the vehicle, continued to shout in their
ears, for as I have just said, their horses touched us, "Down with the
Dictator! Down with the traitors!"

We alighted in the Rue Lafitte. Carini, Montanelli, and Arnauld left me,
and I went on alone towards the Rue de la Tour d'Auvergne. Night was
coming on. As I turned the corner of the street a man passed close by me.
By the light of a street lamp I recognized a workman at a neighboring
tannery, and he said to me in a low tone, and quickly, "Do not return
home. The police surround your house."

I went back again towards the Boulevard, through the streets laid out,
but not then built, which make a Y under my windows behind my house. Not
being able to embrace my wife and daughter, I thought over what I could
do during the moments which remained to me. A remembrance came into my
mind.

CHAPTER XVII.

THE REBOUND OF THE 24TH JUNE, 1848, ON THE 2D DECEMBER, 1851

On Sund