uare, where the crowd was. In all the shops, dozens of
conscripts, purchasing ribbons, thronged around the counters, weeping
and singing as if possessed. Others in the inns embraced, sobbing; but
still they sang. Two or three musicians of the neighborhood--the Gipsy
Walteufel, Rosselkasten, and George Adam--had arrived, and their pieces
thundered in terrible and heart-rending strains.

Catharine squeezed my arm. Aunt Gredel followed.

Opposite the guard-house I saw the pedler Pinacle afar off, his pack
opened on a little table, and beside it a long pole decked with ribbons
which he was selling to the conscripts.

I hastened to pass by him, when he cried:

"Ha! Cripple! Halt! Come here; I have a ribbon for you; you must
have a magnificent one--one to draw a prize by."

He waved a long black ribbon above his head, and I grew pale despite
myself. But as we ascended the steps of the town-house, a conscript
was just descending; it was Klipfel, the smith of the French gate; he
had drawn number eight, and shouted:

"The black for me, Pinacle! Bring it here, whatever may happen."

His face was gloomy, but he laughed. His little brother Jean was
crying behind him, and said:

"No, no, Jacob! not the black!"

But Pinacle fastened the ribbon to the smith's hat, while the latter
said:

"That is what we want now. We are all dead, and should wear our own
mourning."

And he cried savagely:

"_Vive l'Empereur!_"

I was better satisfied to see the black ribbon on his hat than on mine,
and I slipped quickly through the crowd to avoid Pinacle.

We had great difficulty in getting into the townhouse and in climbing
the old oak stairs, where people were going up and down in swarms. In
the great hall above, the gendarme Kelz walked about maintaining order
as well as he could, and in the council-chamber at the side, where
there was a painting of Justice with her eyes blindfolded, we heard
them calling off the numbers. From time to time a conscript came out
with flushed face, fastening his number to his cap and passing with
bowed head through the crowd, like a furious bull who cannot see
clearly and who would seem to wish to break his horns against the
walls. Others, on the contrary, passed as pale as death. The windows
of the town-house were open, and without we heard six or seven pieces
playing together. It was horrible.

I pressed Catharine's hand, and we passed slowly through the crowd to
the hall where Mo