acqueline, an expeditious man, accosted
some passing artisans: "Come here, you!" He treated them to ten sous'
worth of wine and said: "Have you work?" "No." "Go to Filspierre,
between the Barriere Charonne and the Barriere Montreuil, and you will
find work." At Filspierre's they found cartridges and arms. Certain
well-known leaders were going the rounds, that is to say, running from
one house to another, to collect their men. At Barthelemy's, near the
Barriere du Trone, at Capel's, near the Petit-Chapeau, the drinkers
accosted each other with a grave air. They were heard to say: "Have you
your pistol?" "Under my blouse." "And you?" "Under my shirt." In the
Rue Traversiere, in front of the Bland workshop, and in the yard of
the Maison-Brulee, in front of tool-maker Bernier's, groups whispered
together. Among them was observed a certain Mavot, who never remained
more than a week in one shop, as the masters always discharged him
"because they were obliged to dispute with him every day." Mavot was
killed on the following day at the barricade of the Rue Menilmontant.
Pretot, who was destined to perish also in the struggle, seconded Mavot,
and to the question: "What is your object?" he replied: "Insurrection."
Workmen assembled at the corner of the Rue de Bercy, waited for a
certain Lemarin, the revolutionary agent for the Faubourg Saint-Marceau.
Watchwords were exchanged almost publicly.

On the 5th of June, accordingly, a day of mingled rain and sun, General
Lamarque's funeral procession traversed Paris with official military
pomp, somewhat augmented through precaution. Two battalions, with draped
drums and reversed arms, ten thousand National Guards, with their swords
at their sides, escorted the coffin. The hearse was drawn by young men.
The officers of the Invalides came immediately behind it, bearing laurel
branches. Then came an innumerable, strange, agitated multitude, the
sectionaries of the Friends of the People, the Law School, the Medical
School, refugees of all nationalities, and Spanish, Italian, German,
and Polish flags, tricolored horizontal banners, every possible sort of
banner, children waving green boughs, stone-cutters and carpenters who
were on strike at the moment, printers who were recognizable by their
paper caps, marching two by two, three by three, uttering cries, nearly
all of them brandishing sticks, some brandishing sabres, without order
and yet with a single soul, now a tumultuous rout, again a c