from our
seats, and had embraced each other. Michel de Bourges was particularly
angered against Bonaparte, for he had believed his word, and had even
gone so far as to say, "He is my man." Of the four of us, he was the
most indignant. A gloomy flash of victory shone in him. He struck the
table with his fist, and exclaimed, "Oh! the miserable wretch!
To-morrow--" and he struck the table a second time, "to-morrow his
head shall fall in the Place de Greve before the Hotel de Ville."

I looked at him.

"No," said I, "this man's head shall not fall."

"What do you mean?"

"I do not wish it."

"Why?"

"Because," said I, "if after such a crime we allow Louis Bonaparte to
live we shall abolish the penalty of death."

This generous Michel de Bourges remained thoughtful for a moment, then
he pressed my hand.

Crime is an opportunity, and always gives us a choice, and it is better
to extract from it progress than punishment. Michel de Bourges realized
this.

Moreover this incident shows to what a pitch our hopes had been raised.

Appearances were on our side, actual facts not so. Saint-Arnaud had his
orders. We shall see them.

Strange incidents took place.

Towards noon a general, deep in thought, was on horseback in the Place
de la Madeleine, at the head of his wavering troops. He hesitated.

A carriage stopped, a woman stepped out and conversed in a low tone
with the general. The crowd could see her. The Representative Raymond,
who lived at No 4, Place de la Madeleine, saw her from his window. This
woman was Madame K. The general stooping down on his horse, listened,
and finally made the dejected gesture of a vanquished man. Madame K.
got back into her carriage. This man, they said, loved that woman. She
could, according to the side of her beauty which fascinated her victim,
inspire either heroism or crime. This strange beauty was compounded of
the whiteness of an angel, combined with the look of a spectre.

It was the look which conquered.

This man no longer hesitated. He entered gloomily into the enterprise.

From twelve to two o'clock there was in this enormous city given over
to the unknown an indescribable and fierce expectation. All was calm
and awe-striking. The regiments and the limbered batteries quitted the
faubourg and stationed themselves noiselessly around the boulevards.
Not a cry in the ranks of the soldiery. An eye-witness said, "The
soldiers march with quite a jaunty air." On the Quai de