ricade--all in
grim earnest without talking.

I forgot to say that on the previous day I had witnessed a marvellously
dramatic scene in the Faubourg Saint-Antoine, by the market-house. There
was across it an immense barricade, made of literally everything--old
beds, waggons, stones, and rubbish--and it was guarded by a dense crowd
of insurgents, armed or unarmed, of whom I was one. All around were at
least three thousand people singing the _Marseillaise_ and the _Chant des
Girondins_. There was a charge of infantry, a discharge of muskets, and
fifteen fell dead, some almost touching me, while the mob around never
ceased their singing, and the sounds of that tremendous and terrible
chorus mingled with the dying groans and cries of the victims and the
great roar of the bell of Notre Dame. It was like a scene in the opera.
This very barricade has been described by Victor Hugo in detail, but not
all which took place there, the whole scene being, in fact, far more
dramatic or picturesque than he supposed it to have been.

It seemed to be predestined that I should see every great event in that
drama, from the charge of Changarnier down to the very end, and I hereby
declare that on my honour I set forth exactly what I saw with my own
eyes, without a shade of colour off the truth.

There was a garcon named Edouard, who always waited on me in the Cafe
Rotonde. While I was working for life at my second barricade, he came
out holding a napkin, and examining my labour critically, waved it,
exclaimed approvingly, "_Tres bien_, _Citoyen Charles_--_tres bien_!" It
was his little joke for some days after to call me Citoyen Charles.

Returning down the Rue de la Harpe before our house my landlady exclaimed
to me in alarm, "Hide your pistols! there is a _mouchard_ (spy of the
police) following you." I believe that I, my blood being up, said
something to the effect that if she would point him out I would shoot him
forthwith, but the _mouchard_ had vanished. We had all got into cool
earnestness by that time as regards shooting, having been in it
constantly for three days.

Over the barricade came sprawling a tall ungainly red-haired Yankee, a
student of medicine, whom I had met before, and who began to question me
as to what I was doing. To which I replied, "What the devil do you want
here, anyhow?" not being in a mood to be trifled with. To which he
replied, "Nawthin', only a kinder lookin' reound. But what on airth--"
"Bu