this point which offered any
resistance. This knot of barricade, this labyrinth of streets, embattled
like a redoubt, was the last citadel of the People and of Right. The
generals invested it leisurely, step by step, and on all sides. They
concentrated their forces. They, the combatants of this fateful hour,
knew nothing of what was being done. Only from time to time they
interrupted their recital of events and they listened. From the right
and from the left, from the front, from the rear, from every side, at
the same time, an unmistakable murmur, growing every moment louder, and
more distinct, hoarse, piercing, fear-inspiring, reached them through
the darkness. It was the sound of the battalions marching and charging
at the trumpet-command in all the adjoining streets. They resumed their
gallant conversation, and then in another moment they stopped again and
listened to that species of ill-omened chant, chanted by Death, which
was approaching.

Nevertheless some still thought that they would not be attacked till the
next morning. Night combats are rare in street-warfare. They are more
"risky" than all the other conflicts. Few generals venture upon them.
But amongst the old hands of the barricade, from certain never-failing
signs, they believed that an assault was imminent.

In fact, at half-past ten at night, and not at eight o'clock as General
Magnan has said in the despicable document which he calls his report--a
special movement was heard in the direction of the markets. This was the
marching of the troops. Colonel de Lourmel had determined to make the
attack. The 51st of the Line, posted at Saint Eustache, entered the Rue
Montorgueil. The 2d battalion formed the advanced guard. The Grenadiers
and the Light Infantry, hurled forward at the double, quickly carried
the three little barricades which were on the other side of the vacant
space of the Rue Mauconseil, and the feebly defended barricades of the
adjoining streets. It was at that very moment that the barricade near
which I was happened to be carried.

From the barricade of the Petit Carreau they heard the night-strife draw
near through the darkness, with a fitful noise, strange and appalling.
First a great tumult, then volleys, then silence, and then all began
again. The flashing of the fusillades suddenly delineated in the darkness
the outlines of the houses, which appeared as though they themselves
were affrighted.

The decisive moment drew near.

The o