St. Denis, Montmartre and
Richelieu with cavalry. A simple plan, is it not? Almost as simple as
that of the insurrectionists themselves--a barricade on every street and
one hundred thousand men in the Place du Carrousel!"

"The Government will not yield, Monsieur!" said Debray, firmly. "The
Minister is unshaken. To crush an unarmed mob cannot severely tax the
most skillful generals in Europe."

"True, they are unarmed," returned Dantes, with apparent seriousness.
"Their leaders should have thought of that--arms are so easily
provided--but then they can rely on their men!"

"We have yet to see that!" replied Debray, with some asperity.

"True, we have yet to see it. It is only a matter of belief now; then it
will be a matter of knowledge. Seeing is knowing," added M. Dantes, with
his peculiar smile. "But, pray, assure me, M. Debray, are the Ministry
and their advisers, indeed, sanguine of the issue to-morrow!"

"They are certain!" replied the Secretary, with energy. Then, feeling
that he had, perhaps, made a dangerous revelation, he quickly added: "I
have the honor, Monsieur, to wish you a very good night! It is late!"

"Say, rather, it is early, Monsieur!" replied Dantes. "I have the honor
to wish you a very good morning!"

The Secretary returned the courtesy, turned away, and, after exchanging
a few words with M. Thiers, disappeared.

"They are certain, then!" soliloquized M. Dantes, as Debray quitted the
salon. "I was sure I should know all before he left."

Then, rejoining Mercedes, who was patiently awaiting him, they stepped
into their carriage, as the drowsy tones of the watchman rose on the
misty air, "Past four o'clock, and all is well!"

CHAPTER XVII.

THE REVOLUTION BEGINS.

Tuesday, the 22nd of February, the birthday of the immortal Washington
and the first of the Three Days of the French Revolution of 1848, broke
darkly and gloomily on Paris. The night had been tempestuous, and the
wind still drove the sleet through the leafless trees of the
Champs-Elysees and howled drearily along the cheerless boulevards.

The streets were dismal, desolate and deserted. Here and there, however,
through the gray light of the winter dawn, could be caught the semblance
of a figure closely muffled, whether for concealment, disguise, or
protection from the biting blast was doubtful, stealing along; these
figures often met and exchanged ominous signs of recognition.

"Is the procession still to take place