to draw off their attention from us.

"That comes from over there," cried the soldiers, "They are over there!"
and all starting off at once in the direction from which the shot had
been fired, they left the barricade and ran down the street at the top
of their speed.

The last-maker and myself got up.

"They are no longer there," whispered he. "Quick! let us be off."

"But this poor woman," said I. "Are we going to leave her here?"

"Oh," she said, "do not be afraid, I have nothing to fear; as for me, I
am an ambulance. I am taking care of the wounded. I shall even relight
my candle when you are gone. What troubles me is that my poor husband
has not yet come back!"

We crossed the shop on tiptoe. The last-maker gently opened the door and
glanced out into the street. Some inhabitants had obeyed the order to
light up their windows, and four or five lighted candles here and there
flickered in the wind upon the sills of the windows. The street was no
longer completely dark.

"There is no one about now," said the last-maker; "but let us make
haste, for they will probably come back."

We went out: the old woman closed the door behind us, and we found
ourselves in the street. We got over the barricade and hurried away as
quickly as possible. We passed by the dead old man. He was still there,
lying on the pavement indistinctly revealed by the flickering glimmer
from the windows; he looked as though he was sleeping. As we reached the
second barricade we heard behind us the soldiers, who were returning.

We succeeded in regaining the streets in course of demolition. There we
were in safety. The sound of musketry still reached us. The last-maker
said, "They are fighting in the direction of the Rue de Clery." Leaving
the streets in course of demolition, we went round the markets, not
without risk of falling into the hands of the patrols, by a number of
zigzags, and from one little street to another little street. We reached
the Rue Saint Honore.

At the corner of the Rue de l'Arbre Sec the last-maker and I separated,
"For in truth," said he to me, "two run more danger than one." And I
regained No. 19, Rue Richelieu.

While crossing the rue des Bourdonnais we had noticed the bivouac of the
Place Saint Eustache. The troops who had been dispatched for the attack
had not yet come back. Only a few companies were guarding it. We could
hear shouts of laughter. The soldiers were warming themselves at large
fires lighted here a