hope so. Although we have been so
often disappointed in our chiefs, we have not yet lost the desire to
place confidence in some one. To-night we believe in the admiral. Ever
and anon our superior officers retire to the _mairies_, and receive
strict orders concerning their duty. We are quite an army in ourselves;
our centre is in the Place de la Bourse, our wings extend into the
adjoining streets. Lines of Nationals guard all the openings; sentinels
are posted sixty feet in front to give the alarm. Within the enclosed
space there is no one to be seen, but the houses are inhabited as usual.
The doors have been left open by order, and also all the windows on the
first floors. Each company, divided under the command of sergeants, has
taken possession of three or four houses. At the first signal of alarm
the street-doors are to be closed, the men to rush to the windows, and
from there to fire on the assailants. "Hold yourselves in readiness; it
is very possible you may be attacked. On the approach of the enemy the
guards in the streets are to fall back under fire towards the houses,
and take shelter there. Those posted at the windows are to keep up an
unceasing fire on the insurgents. In the meantime the bulk of our forces
will come to our aid, and clear the streets with their mitrailleuses."

So we waited, resolved on obedience, calm, with a silent but fervent
prayer that we might not be obliged to turn our arms against our
fellow-townsmen.

The night is beautiful. Some of our men are talking in groups on the
thresholds of the doors, others, rolled in their blankets, are lying on
the ground asleep. In the upper storeys of some of the houses lights are
still twinkling through the muslin curtains; lower down all is darkness.
Scarcely a sound is to be heard, only now and then the rumble of a heavy
cart, or perhaps a cannon in the distance; and nearer to us the sudden
noise of a musket that slips from its resting-place on to the pavement.
Every hour the dull sound of many feet is heard; it is the patrol of
Mobiles making its round. We question them as they pass.--"Anything
fresh?"--"Nothing," is the invariable reply.--"How far have you
been?"--"As far as the Rue de la Paix," they answer, and pass on.
Interrupted conversations are resumed, and the sleepers, who had been
awakened by the noise, close their eyes again. We are watching and
waiting,--may we watch and wait in vain!

XIII.

Never have I seen the dawn break