anty Sarre heard them going away by the Rue
Montmartre. They would doubtless come back.

No means of flight. He felt all the doors round his prison successively.
One of them at length opened. This appeared to him like a miracle.
Whoever could have forgotten to shut the door? Providence, doubtless. He
hid himself behind it, and remained there for more than an hour,
standing motionless, scarcely breathing. He no longer heard any sound;
he ventured out. The sentinel was no longer there. The detachment had
rejoined the battalion.

One of his old friends, a man to whom he had rendered services such as
are not forgotten, lived in this very Passage du Saumon. Jeanty Sarre
looked for the number, woke the porter, told him the name of his friend,
was admitted, went up the stairs, and knocked at the door. The door was
opened, his friend appeared in his nightshirt, with a candle in his
hand.

He recognized Jeanty Sarre, and cried out, "You here! What a state you
are in! Where hove you come from? From what riot? from what madness? And
then you come to compromise us all here? To have us murdered? To have us
shot? Now then, what do you want with me?"

"I want you to give me a brush down," said Jeanty Sarre.

His friend took a brush and brushed him, and Jeanty Sarre went away.
While going down the stairs, Jeanty Sarre cried out to his friend,
"Thanks!"

Such is the kind of hospitality which we have since received in Belgium,
in Switzerland, and even in England.

The next day, when they took up the bodies they found on Charpentier a
note-book and a pencil, and upon Denis Dussoubs a letter. A letter to a
woman. Even these stoic souls love.

On the 1st of December, Denis Dussoubs began this letter. He did not
finish it. Here it is:--

"MY DEAR MARIE,

"Have you experienced that sweet pain of feeling regret for him who
regrets you? For myself since I left you I have known no other
affliction than that of thinking of you. Even in my affliction itself
there was something sweet and tender, and although I was troubled, I
was nevertheless happy to feel in the depths of my heart how greatly
I loved you by the regret which you cost me. Why are we separated?
Why have I been forced to fly from you? For we were so happy! When I
think of our little evenings so free from constraint, of our gay
country chats with your sisters, I feel myself seized with a bitter
regret. Did we not love each other clearly, my darling? W