Part 26 (2/2)

”It is too late,” replied the other. ”Guizot has been forced away by the people--Mole may be forced away, too--so may the King! No more tricks!

The people now know their power. There shall be no mistake this time!”

And the insurrectionists parted.

As the day closed, barricades rose in the Quartier du Temple, and there was fighting between the people and the Munic.i.p.al Guard. But the National Guard came to the rescue, and the latter surrendered.

At nine o'clock Paris was illuminated. White, red, blue--yellow, orange, green--these were the tri-colors of the lamps that poured their rich effulgence from every window on the gloomy scene without. The streets were thronged and the cafes crowded; men of all nations and Parisians of all cla.s.ses were in the streets; the rattle of musketry had ceased; the troops were in their barracks and the people at their homes.

At the corner of the Boulevard and the Rue des Capucines, Flocon and Louis Blanc met.

”Guizot has fallen!” cried the first.

”And the most intimate friend of the King has succeeded him! What have we to hope for from the change?”

”What are we to do?” asked Flocon.

”In one hour the people will sing the Ma.r.s.eillaise before the Hotel des Affaires etrangeres!”

”The 14th Regiment of the Line is there,” replied Flocon.

”So much the better! Blood will flow! The revolution will not stop!”

And the conspirators separated.

At ten o'clock, before the official residence of M. Guizot, himself then absent, and probably in full flight for the coast, an immense crowd of the people with torches was a.s.sembled. Their purpose was to sing the Ma.r.s.eillaise. The 14th Regiment barred the way--the street was dimly lighted--a single row of lamps along the courtyard wall was all the illumination--a double line of troops was the defence.

”Let me pa.s.s!” cried the officer of the National Guard who led the people to the officer who led the troops.

”Impossible!”

”In the name of the people, I demand to pa.s.s!”

”In the name of the Law, you shall not!”

”The people command! Forward!” cried the National Guard.

”Present! Fire!” shouted the officer.

There was a roll of musketry--a shrill shriek rang along the Boulevard--the vast ma.s.s recoiled--the smoke floated off--sixty-three of the people of Paris lay weltering in their gore!

”The blow is struck at last!” cried M. Dantes, rus.h.i.+ng across the Boulevard, pale and excited. ”To arms, people of Paris, to arms!”

”To arms, to arms! Vengeance for our brothers!” was now the terrible cry that burst from the infuriated populace. The congratulation--the illumination--all was lost in the wild wish for vengeance.

At eleven o'clock that night an immense mult.i.tude, composed chiefly of workmen from the faubourgs, was coming down the Boulevard des Capucines.

It was the largest and most regular throng yet seen. In front marched a platoon of men bearing torches and waving tri-color flags. Immediately behind walked an officer in the full uniform of the National Guard, with a drawn sword in his hand, whose slightest command was implicitly observed. Next came a tumbrel bearing the naked corpses of the slain, whose faces, mutilated by their wounds and disfigured by blood, glared horribly up, with open eyes, in the red torchlight that flared in the night blast around! Behind this awful display marched a dense ma.s.s of National Guards, succeeded by a countless ma.s.s of the people armed with, guns, swords, clubs and bars of iron, chanting forth in full chorus, not the inspiring Ma.r.s.eillaise or the Parisienne, but in awful concert sending upon the night air the deep and dreadful notes of the death-hymn of the Girondins, ”Mourir pour la Patrie,” intermingled with yells for vengeance.

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