cried out, "You can't pass!"
All right, thought I to myself; there is nothing fresh I suppose, only
the Commune does not want people to pass; of course, it has right on its
side. Thereupon I began to retrace my steps. "You can't pass," calls out
another sentinel, by the time I have reached the other side of the
street.

This is strange, the Commune cannot mean to limit my walk to a
melancholy pacing up and down between two opposite pavements. A sergeant
came up to me; I recognised him as a Spaniard, who during the siege
belonged to my company. "Why are you not in uniform?" he asked me, with
a roughness that I fancied was somewhat mitigated by the remembrance of
the many cigars I had given him, the nights we were on guard during the
siege. I understood in an instant what they wanted with me, and replied
unhesitatingly, "Because it is not my turn to be on guard,"--"No, of
course it's not, it never is. You have been taking your ease this long
time, while others have been getting killed." It was evident this
Spaniard had not taken the cigars I had given him, in good part, and was
now revenging himself.--"What do you want with me?" I said; "let's have
done with this." Instead of answering, he signed to two Federals
standing near, who immediately placed themselves one on each side of me,
and cried, "March!" I was perfectly agreeable, although this walk was
not exactly in the direction I had intended. On the way I heard a woman
say, "Poor young man I They have taken him in the act." I was conducted
to the church of Notre-Dame-de-Lorette, and marched into the vestry,
where about fifty _refractaires_ were already assembled.

Behind a deal table, on which were placed a small register, an inkstand
stuck in a great bung, and two quill pens, sat three young men, almost
boys, in uniform. You might have imagined them to be Minos, Aeacus, and
Rhadamanthus, at the age when they played at leap-frog. "Your name?"
said Rhadamanthus, addressing me. I did not think twice about it, but
gave them a name which has never been mine. Suddenly some one behind me
burst out laughing; I turned round and recognised an old friend, whom I
had not noticed among the other prisoners. "Your profession?" inquired
Minos.--"Prizefighter," I answered, putting my arms akimbo and looking
as ferocious as possible, by way of keeping up the character I had
momentarily assumed. To the rest of the questions that were addressed to
me, I replied in the same satisfactory