h this time was
cheered, confided life and property to the protection and devotedness
of the people. A civic guard in blouses was improvised. Empty shops that
were to let were transformed into guard houses, patrols were organized
and sentries posted. The rebellious prisoners at La Force, terrified by
the assertion that cannon (which did not exist) had been brought to
bear upon the prison and that unless they surrendered promptly and
unconditionally they would be blown sky-high, submitted quietly and
returned to work.

The weather was cloudy, but mild, and the rain held off. The streets
were thrilling with a noisy, joyous crowd. The people continued with
incredible ardour to fortify the barricades that had already been
constructed, and even to build new ones. Bands of them with flags flying
and drums beating marched about shouting "Long live the Republic!" and
singing the "Marseillaise and Die for the Fatherland!" The cafes
were crowded to overflowing, but many of the shops were closed, as on
holidays; and, indeed, the city did present a holiday appearance.

I made my way along the quays to the Pont Neuf. There, at the bottom of
a proclamation I read the name of Lamartine, and having seen the people,
I experienced the desire to see my great friend. I therefore turned back
with Victor towards the Hotel de Ville.

As on the previous day, the square in front of the building was filled
with a crowd, and the crowd was so compact that it immobilized itself.
It was impossible to approach the steps of the front entrance. After
several attempts to get somewhere near to them, I was about to force my
way back out of the crowd when I was perceived by M. Froment-Meurice,
the artist-goldsmith, brother of my young friend, Paul Meurice. He was a
major of the National Guard, and on duty with his battalion at the Hotel
de Ville. "Make way!" he shouted authoritatively. "Make way for
Victor Hugo!" And the human wall opened, how I do not know, before his
epaulettes.

The entrance once passed, M. Froment-Meurice guided us up all sorts of
stairways, and through corridors and rooms encumbered with people. As we
were passing a man came from a group, and planting himself in front of
me, said: "Citizen Victor Hugo, shout 'Long live the Republic!'"

"I will shout nothing by order," said I. "Do you understand what liberty
is? For my part, I practise it. I will shout to-day 'Long live the
people!' because it pleases me to do so. The day when I s