use us," while the others followed step by step.

They were the first prisoners released by the convention of the 23d of
April, and we saw these men pass afterward every day until July. They
had no doubt avoided the magazines, in order the sooner to reach France.

On reaching the little street they found the crowd extended beyond the
arsenal; and then in order not to disturb the people, they went under
the postern and sat down on the damp steps, with their little bundles
on the ground beside them, and waited for the procession to pass. They
had come from a great distance, and hardly knew what was going on with
us.

Unhappily the wretches from Bois-de-Chenes, the big Horni, Zapheri
Roller, Nicholas Cochart, the carder, Pinacle, whom they had made mayor
to pay him for having shown the way to Falberg and Graufthal to the
allies during the siege, all these rascals and others who were with
them, who wanted the fleur-de-lis--as if the fleur-de-lis could make
them any better--unhappily, I say, all that bad set who lived by
stealing fagots from the forest, had discovered the old tri-colored
cockade in the tops of their shakos, and "now," they thought, "is the
time to prove ourselves the real supporters of the throne and the
altar."

They came on disturbing everybody, Pinacle had a big black cravat on
his neck and a crape, an ell wide, on his hat, with his shirt collar
above his ears, and as grave as a bandit who wants to make himself look
like an honest man; he came up the first one. The old soldier with the
three chevrons had discovered that these men were threatening them at a
distance and had risen to see what it meant.

"Come, come! don't crowd so!" said he. "We are not much in the habit
of running, what do you want?"

But Pinacle, who was afraid of losing so good an occasion to show his
zeal for Louis XVIII., instead of replying to him, smashed his shako at
a blow, shouting, "Down with the cockade!"

Naturally the old veteran was indignant and was about to defend
himself, when these wretches, both men and women, fell upon the
soldiers, knocking them down, pulling off their cockades and epaulets,
and trampling them under foot without shame or pity.

The poor old fellow got up several times, exclaiming, in a voice which
went to one's heart, "Pack of cowards, are you Frenchmen, assassins,
etc., etc."

Every time he rose they beat him down again, and at last left him with
his clothes torn, and covered with blood