all and shot, looking smilingly the while toward Jean, his eldest
son, his daughter-in-law and his two grandchildren, who witnessed this
scene in dumb terror.

A COUP D'ETAT

Paris had just heard of the disaster at Sedan. A republic had been
declared. All France was wavering on the brink of this madness which
lasted until after the Commune. From one end of the country to the other
everybody was playing soldier.

Cap-makers became colonels, fulfilling the duties of generals; revolvers
and swords were displayed around big, peaceful stomachs wrapped in
flaming red belts; little tradesmen became warriors commanding battalions
of brawling volunteers, and swearing like pirates in order to give
themselves some prestige.

The sole fact of handling firearms crazed these people, who up to that
time had only handled scales, and made them, without any reason,
dangerous to all. Innocent people were shot to prove that they knew how
to kill; in forests which had never seen a Prussian, stray dogs, grazing
cows and browsing horses were killed.

Each one thought himself called upon to play a great part in military
affairs. The cafes of the smallest villages, full of uniformed tradesmen,
looked like barracks or hospitals.

The town of Canneville was still in ignorance of the maddening news from
the army and the capital; nevertheless, great excitement had prevailed
for the last month, the opposing parties finding themselves face to face.

The mayor, Viscount de Varnetot, a thin, little old man, a conservative,
who had recently, from ambition, gone over to the Empire, had seen a
determined opponent arise in Dr. Massarel, a big, full-blooded man,
leader of the Republican party of the neighborhood, a high official in
the local masonic lodge, president of the Agricultural Society and of the
firemen's banquet and the organizer of the rural militia which was to
save the country.

In two weeks, he had managed to gather together sixty-three volunteers,
fathers of families, prudent farmers and town merchants, and every
morning he would drill them in the square in front of the town-hall.

When, perchance, the mayor would come to the municipal building,
Commander Massarel, girt with pistols, would pass proudly in front of his
troop, his sword in his hand, and make all of them cry: "Long live the
Fatherland!" And it had been noticed that this cry excited the little
viscount, who probably saw in it a menace, a threat, as well as the
od