f down the
Faubourg Saint Antoine. An hour later the procession returned with its
ranks greatly swelled, and bearing torches and flags, and made its way
to the grand boulevards with the intention of going home by way of
the quays, so that the whole town might witness the celebration of its
victory.

Midnight is striking. The appearance of the streets has changed. The
Marais quarter is lugubrious. I have just returned from a stroll there.
The street lamps are broken and extinguished on the Boulevard Bourdon,
so well named the "dark boulevard." The only shops open to-night were
those in the Rue Saint Antoine. The Beaumarchais Theatre was closed. The
Place Royale is guarded like a place of arms. Troops are in ambush in
the arcades. In the Rue Saint Louis, a battalion is leaning silently
against the walls in the shadow.

Just now, as the clock struck the hour, we went on to the balcony
listening and saying: "It is the tocsin!"

I could not have slept in a bed. I passed the night in my drawing-room,
writing, thinking and listening. Now and then I went out on the balcony
and strained my ears to listen, then I entered the room again and paced
to and fro, or dropped into an arm-chair and dozed. But my slumber was
agitated by feverish dreams. I dreamed that I could hear the murmur of
angry crowds, and the report of distant firing; the tocsin was clanging
from the church towers. I awoke. It was the tocsin.

The reality was more horrible than the dream.

This crowd that I had seen marching and singing so gaily on the
boulevards had at first continued its pacific way without let or
hindrance. The infantry regiments, the artillery and cuirassiers had
everywhere opened their ranks to let the procession pass through. But on
the Boulevard des Capucines a mass of troops, infantry and cavalry,
who were guarding the Ministry of Foreign Affairs and its unpopular
Minister, M. Guizot, blocked the thoroughfare. In front of this
insurmountable obstacle the head of the column tried to stop and turn;
but the irresistible pressure of the enormous crowd behind pushed the
front ranks on. At this juncture a shot was fired, on which side is
not known. A panic ensued, followed by a volley. Eighty fell dead or
wounded. Then arose a general cry of horror and fury: "Vengeance!" The
bodies of the victims were placed in a tumbril lighted by torches. The
crowd faced about and, amid imprecations, resumed its march, which had
now assumed the