ect for public opinion. In Boulevard
Haussmann they got out from the eye of the military. They began to
hustle those who happened to get in their way. Those who were not
sufficiently explicit in their views were compelled to cry "Vive
l'armee;" whoever refused was promptly knocked on the head.

"Monsieur Front de Boeuf," said Jean Marot to his companion, who had
narrowly missed spattering the young leader with the brains of a
misguided Dreyfusarde, "if you will strike less heavily you will
longer remain with us, and possibly for a time escape the guillotine.
Let us do no murder, mon ami. Your stick is heavy."

"That's so; but it is a lovely stick all the same," replied the man,
with a satisfied air, as he wiped the blood from his hands upon his
blouse.

Then for the first time Jean noticed that this blouse bore many old
stains of the same sanguinary color. Undoubtedly it was blood. Human?
Faugh!

Jean saw around him other men of the same type, red-faced and
strong-limbed, mentally as well as physically saturated with the
brutality of their calling. He thought of Mlle. Fouchette. It was
true, then, that these human brutes from the abattoirs were here. That
other type, the "camelot,"--he of the callous, cadaverous face, thinly
clad body, cunning eyes, husky lungs,--was more familiar.

But these butchers of La Villette, why were they royalists? What
special interest had the killers of cattle in the restoration of the
monarchy? They had emphasized their devotion to the Duc d'Orleans by
re-electing his parliamentary leader, the Comte de Sabran, by an
overwhelming vote. From the rich and influential wholesaler to the low
hind whose twelve hours a day were passed in knocking bullocks on the
head or in slitting throats with precision the butchers stood three to
one for the royal regime. Men may be hired for certain services, but
in such a case as this there must exist some natural sentiment at
bottom. This sentiment was perhaps only the common French intolerance
of existing things.

Jean Marot's train of thought had not reached that far, owing to fresh
differences of opinion between some of his followers and the
spectators, in which it became necessary for a dozen men to kick one
helpless fellow-man into insensibility.

They were now nearing the proposed place of meeting, and the hitherto
scattered cries of "Vive la justice!" "Vive la liberte!" "Vive la
France!" and "Vive la republique!" had developed into well-defined