it began to rain; the old
fellow stepped up to her and, opening his vast red umbrella, asked
permission to offer her its shelter. She answered sweetly, in her clear
treble, that she would be very glad. But at the sound of her voice and
warned perhaps by a subtle scent of womanhood, he strode rapidly away,
leaving the girl exposed to the rain-storm; she took in the situation,
and, despite her gnawing anxieties, could not restrain a smile.

Julie lived in an attic in the Rue du Cherche-Midi and represented
herself as a draper's shop-boy in search of employment; the widow
Gamelin, at last convinced that the girl was running smaller risks
anywhere else than at her home, had got her away from the Place de
Thionville and the Section du Pont-Neuf, and was giving her all the help
she could in the way of food and linen. Julie did her trifle of cooking,
went to the Luxembourg to see her beloved prisoner and back again to her
garret; the monotony of the life was a balm to her grief, and, being
young and strong, she slept well and soundly the night through. She was
of a fearless temper and broken in to an adventurous life; the costume
she wore added perhaps a further spice of excitement, and she would
sometimes sally out at night to visit a restaurateur's in the Rue du
Four, at the sign of the Red Cross, a place frequented by men of all
sorts and conditions and women of gallantry. There she read the papers
or played backgammon with some tradesman's clerk or citizen-soldier, who
smoked his pipe in her face. Drinking, gambling, love-making were the
order of the day, and scuffles were not unfrequent. One evening a
customer, hearing a trampling of hoofs on the paved roadway outside,
lifted the curtain, and recognizing the Commandant-in-Chief of the
National Guard, the _citoyen_ Hanriot, who was riding past with his
Staff, muttered between his teeth:

"There goes Robespierre's jackass!"

Julie overheard and burst into a loud guffaw.

But a moustachioed patriot took up the challenge roundly:

"Whoever says that," he shouted, "is a bl--sted aristocrat, and I should
like to see the fellow sneeze into Samson's basket. I tell you General
Hanriot is a good patriot who'll know how to defend Paris and the
Convention at a pinch. That's why the Royalists can't forgive him."

Glaring at Julie, who was still laughing, the patriot added:

"You there, greenhorn, have a care I don't land you a kick in the
backside to learn you to respect good