did not
understand him, and, moreover, appeared to be an idiot. All around, in
the two galleries, the populace, having got possession of the cellars,
gave themselves up to a horrible carouse. Wine flowed in streams and
wetted people's feet; the mudlarks drank out of the tail-ends of the
bottles, and shouted as they staggered along.

"Come away out of this," said Hussonnet; "I am disgusted with the
people."

All over the Orleans Gallery the wounded lay on mattresses on the
ground, with purple curtains folded round them as coverlets; and the
small shopkeepers' wives and daughters from the quarter brought them
broth and linen.

"No matter!" said Frederick; "for my part, I consider the people
sublime."

The great vestibule was filled with a whirlwind of furious individuals.
Men tried to ascend to the upper storys in order to put the finishing
touches to the work of wholesale destruction. National Guards, on the
steps, strove to keep them back. The most intrepid was a chasseur, who
had his head bare, his hair bristling, and his straps in pieces. His
shirt caused a swelling between his trousers and his coat, and he
struggled desperately in the midst of the others. Hussonnet, who had
sharp sight, recognised Arnoux from a distance.

Then they went into the Tuileries garden, so as to be able to breathe
more freely. They sat down on a bench; and they remained for some
minutes with their eyes closed, so much stunned that they had not the
energy to say a word. The people who were passing came up to them and
informed them that the Duchesse d'Orleans had been appointed Regent, and
that it was all over. They were experiencing that species of comfort
which follows rapid _denouements_, when at the windows of the attics in
the chateau appeared men-servants tearing their liveries to pieces. They
flung their torn clothes into the garden, as a mark of renunciation. The
people hooted at them, and then they retired.

The attention of Frederick and Hussonnet was distracted by a tall fellow
who was walking quickly between the trees with a musket on his shoulder.
A cartridge-box was pressed against his pea-jacket; a handkerchief was
wound round his forehead under his cap. He turned his head to one side.
It was Dussardier; and casting himself into their arms:

"Ah! what good fortune, my poor old friends!" without being able to say
another word, so much out of breath was he with fatigue.

He had been on his legs for the last twenty-four