ge, in the name
of the Republic, we, who are the National Assembly, we, who are the Law,
order you to join us, we summon you to obey. We ourselves are your
leaders. The Army belongs to the People, and the Representatives of the
People are the Chiefs of the Army. Soldiers! Louis Bonaparte violates
the Constitution, we have outlawed him. Obey us."

The officer who was in command, a captain named Petit, did not allow him
to finish.

"Gentlemen," he said, "I have my orders. I belong to the People. I am a
Republican as you are, but I am only an instrument."

"You know the Constitution?" said Schoelcher.

"I only know my instructions."

"There is an instruction above all other instructions," continued
Schoelcher, "obligatory upon the Soldier as upon the Citizen--the Law."

He turned again towards the soldiers to harangue them, but the captain
cried out to him,--

"Not another word! You shall not go on! If you add one word, I shall
give the order to fire."

"What does that matter to us?" said Schoelcher.

At this moment an officer arrived on horseback. It was the major of the
regiment. He whispered for a moment to the captain.

"Gentlemen! Representatives!" continued the captain, waving his sword,
"withdraw, or I shall fire."

"Fire!" shouted De Flotte.

The Representatives--strange and heroic copy of Fontenoy--took off their
hats, and faced the muskets.

Schoelcher alone kept his hat on his head, and waited with his arms
crossed.

"Fix bayonets," said the captain. And turning towards the squads,
"Charge!"

"Vive la Republique!" cried out the Representatives.

The
bayonets were lowered, the companies moved forward, the soldiers came on
at the double upon the motionless Representatives.

It was a terrible and superb moment.

The seven Representatives saw the bayonets at their breasts without a
word, without a gesture, without one step backwards. But the hesitation
which was not in their soul was in the heart of the soldiers.

The soldiers felt distinctly that this was a double stain upon their
uniform--the outrage upon the Representatives of the People--which was
treason, and the slaughter of unarmed men, which was cowardice. Now
treason and cowardice are two epaulets to which a general sometimes
becomes reconciled, the soldier--never.

When the bayonets were so close to the Representatives that they touched
their breasts, they turned aside of their own accord, and the soldier's
by an unanimous movem