cades--nevertheless, with all
this, when seeing men like ourselves at their head, they would perhaps
fight, but this hindered them, they did not know for what." He concluded
by saying, "The upper part of the Faubourg is doing nothing, the lower
end will do better. Round about here they will fight. The Rue de la
Roquette is good, the Rue de Charonne is good; but on the side of Pere la
Chaise they ask, 'What good will that do us?' They only recognize the
forty sous of their day's work. They will not bestir themselves; do not
reckon upon the masons." He added, with a smile, "Here we do not say
'cold as a stone,' but 'cold as a mason'"--and he resumed, "As for me, if
I am alive, it is to you that I owe my life. Dispose of me. I will lay
down my life, and will do what you wish."

While he was speaking I saw the white curtain of the glazed partition
behind him move a little. His young wife, uneasy, was peeping through at
us.

"Ah! my God," said I to him, "what we want is not the life of one man but
the efforts of all."

He was silent. I continued,--

"Listen to me, Auguste, you who are good and intelligent. So, then, the
Faubourgs of Paris--which are heroes even when they err--the Faubourgs
of Paris, for a misunderstanding, for a question of salary wrongly
construed, for a bad definition of socialism, rose in June, 1848, against
the Assembly elected by themselves, against universal suffrage, against
their own vote; and yet they will not rise in December, 1851, for Right,
for the Law, for the People, for Liberty, for the Republic. You say that
there is perplexity, and that you do not understand; but, on the
contrary, it was in June that all was obscure, and it is to-day that
everything is clear!"

While I was saying these last words the door of the parlor was softly
opened, and some one came in. It was a young man, fair as Auguste, in an
overcoat, and wearing a workman's cap. I started. Auguste turned round
and said to me, "You can trust him."

The young man took off his cap, came close up to me, carefully turning
his back on the glazed partition, and said to me in a low voice, "I know
you well. I was on the Boulevard du Temple to-day. We asked you what we
were to do; you said, 'We must take up arms.' Well, here they are!"

He thrust his hands into the pockets of his overcoat and drew out two
pistols.

Almost at the same moment the bell of the street door sounded. He
hurriedly put his pistols back into his pockets. A