wd comes and goes. At a
large table in the middle of the vast room secretaries are writing. M.
Odilon Barrot his face red, his lips compressed and his hands behind his
back, is leaning against the mantelpiece.

"You know what is going on, do you not?" he says when he sees us; "the
King has abdicated and the Duchess d'Orleans is Regent."

"If the people so wills," says a man in a blouse who is passing.

The Minister leads us to the recess of a window, looking uneasily about
him as he does so.

"What are you going to do? What are you doing?" I query.

"I am sending telegrams to the departments."

"Is this very urgent?"

"France must be informed of events."

"Yes, but meanwhile Paris is making events. Alas! has it finished making
them? The Regency is all very well, but it has got to be sanctioned."

"Yes, by the Chamber. The Duchess d'Orleans ought to take the Count de
Paris to the Chamber."

"No, since the Chamber has been dissolved. If the Duchess ought to go
anywhere, it is to the Hotel de Ville."

"How can you think of such a thing! What about the danger?"

"There is no danger. A mother, a child! I will answer for the people.
They will respect the woman in the princess.

"Well, then, go to the Tuileries, see the Duchess d'Orleans, advise her,
enlighten her."

"Why do you not go yourself?"

"I have just come from there. Nobody knew where the Duchess was; I could
not get near her. But if you see her tell her that I am at her disposal,
that I await her orders. Ah! Monsieur Victor Hugo, I would give my life
for that woman and for that child!"

Odilon Barrot is the most honest and the most devoted man in the
world, but he is the opposite of a man of action; one feels trouble and
indecision in his words, in his look, in his whole person.

"Listen," he goes on, "what must be done, what is urgent, is that
the people should be made acquainted with these grave changes, the
abdication and Regency. Promise me that you will proclaim them at your
mairie, in the faubourg, and wherever you possibly can."

"I promise."

I go off, with M. Moreau, towards the Tuileries.

In the Rue Bellechasse are galloping horses. A squadron of dragoons
flashes by and seems to be fleeing from a man with bare arms who is
running behind them and brandishing a sword.

The Tuileries are still guarded by troops. The Mayor shows his sash
and they let us pass. At the gate the concierge, to whom I make myself
known, apprises us that t