t because it met with nothing but unbelievers. Nobody believed in a
revolution, and from this fact we may conclude that nobody desired one.
About two o'clock the deputies began to pass, few and unnoticed, through
the side-door of the palace. At three o'clock a few groups of badly
dressed men had formed. At half past three black masses coming from the
adjacent streets spread over Revolution Square. This vast expanse was
soon covered by an ocean of soft hats, and the crowd of demonstrators,
continually increased by sight-seers, having crossed the bridge, struck
its dark wave against the walls of the legislative enclosure. Cries,
murmurs, and songs went up to the impassive sky. "It is Chatillon we
want!" "Down with the Deputies!" "Down with the Republicans!" "Death
to the Republicans!" The devoted band of Dracophils, led by Prince des
Boscenos, struck up the august canticle:

Vive Crucho,
Vaillant et sage,
Plein de courage
Des le berceau!

Behind the wall silence alone replied.

This silence and the absence of guards encouraged and at the same time
frightened the crowd. Suddenly a formidable voice cried out:

"Attack!"

And Prince des Boscenos was seen raising his gigantic form to the top
of the wall, which was covered with barbs and iron spikes. Behind him
rushed his companions, and the people followed. Some hammered against
the wall to make holes in it; others endeavoured to tear down the spikes
and to pull out the barbs. These defences had given way in places and
some of the invaders had stripped the wall and were sitting astride on
the top. Prince des Boscenos was waving an immense green flag. Suddenly
the crowd wavered and from it came a long cry of terror. The police
and the Republican carabineers issuing out of all the entrances of the
palace formed themselves into a column beneath the wall and in a moment
it was cleared of its besiegers. After a long moment of suspense the
noise of arms was heard, and the police charged the crowd with fixed
bayonets. An instant afterwards and on the deserted square strewn with
hats and walking-sticks there reigned a sinister silence. Twice again
the Dracophils attempted to form, twice they were repulsed. The rising
was conquered. But Prince des Boscenos, standing on the wall of the
hostile palace, his flag in his hand, still repelled the attack of a
whole brigade. He knocked down all who approached him. At last he, too,
was thrown down, and fell on an iro