stles of letters and liberty, who
were murdered, exiled, denied Christian burial or dragged through the
streets after death by Frenchmen, stand morally united in one grand
monumental fane commemorative of French intolerance.

Wherever is reared a monument to French personal worth, there also is
a mute testimonial of collective French infamy.

"Dans la rue!" was now the battle-cry.

All of these student "manifestations" were seized upon by the worst
elements of Paris. The estimable character of these elements found in
the Place Maubert and vicinity may be surmised from the fact that a
few days previous to the event about to be herein recorded twenty men
of the neighborhood were chosen to maintain its superiority to the
Halles Centrales against a like number selected by the latter.

The contending factions were drawn up in order of battle in Place
Maubert, on Boulevard St. Germain, in broad afternoon, each man being
armed with a knife, and precipitated an engagement that required one
hundred police reserves to quell.

"If we could only keep that pestiferous gang out of our
manifestations," said Jean now to Monsieur de Beauchamp,--"they
disgrace us always!"

"Oh, but they are good fighters; and there is to be fighting pretty
soon," observed the artist.

"Vive l'armee!" cried Mlle. Fouchette, flourishing a salad-spoon.
Mlle. Fouchette had a martial spirit.

"Whenever a student is arrested he turns out to be one of the roughs
of Place Maubert or a hoodlum of Rue Monge, or a cutthroat of Rue
Mouffetard. It is disgraceful!"

"But it shows the discretion of our police, Monsieur Marot," said the
artist, with his sweet smile. "You see the police are with us. We must
not be too particular who fights on our side, my friend. We can't
afford to quarrel with anybody just now going in our direction. They
are but means to an end, let us remember, and that end the ancient
prestige and glory of France."

"A bas les Juifs!" exclaimed Mlle. Fouchette, without looking up.

The godlike face of the painter glowed with the enthusiasm that
consumed his soul. He now turned his grand eyes upon the girl with
inexpressible sadness.

"That is a question that does not concern us," said he, "except as
another means to an end. Innocent or guilty, shall the pleasure or
pain of one man stand between the millions of our countrymen and the
welfare and perpetuity of France?"

"Never!" cried Mlle. Fouchette, in her excitement bringing down th