cap-covered head, appeared at the corner of a street. The soldiers
promptly fired at it. When they hit their mark they applauded "Good!
Well aimed! Capital!"

They laughed and chatted gaily. At intervals there was a rattle and
roar, and a hail of bullets rained upon the barricade from roofs and
windows. A very tall captain with a grey moustache stood erect at the
centre of the barrier, above which half his body towered. The bullets
pattered about him as about a target. He was impassible and serene and
spoke to his men in this wise:

"There, children, they are firing. Lie down. Look out, Laripaud, you are
showing your head. Reload!"

All at once a woman turned the corner of a street. She came leisurely
towards the barricade. The soldiers swore and shouted to her to get out
of the way:

"Ah! the strumpet! Will you get out of that you w--! Shake a leg, damn
you! She's coming to reconnoitre. She's a spy! Bring her down. Down with
the moucharde!"

The captain restrained them:

"Don't shoot, it's a woman!"

After advancing about twenty paces the woman, who really did seem to be
observing us, entered a low door which closed behind her.

This one was saved.

At 11 o'clock I returned from the barrier in the Place Baudoyer and took
my usual place in the Assembly. A Representative whom I did not know,
but who I have since learned was M. Belley, engineer, residing in the
Rue des Tournelles, came and sat beside me and said:

"Monsieur Victor Hugo, the Place Royale has been burned. They set
fire to your house. The insurgents entered by the little door in the
Cul-de-sac Guemenee."

"And my family?" I inquired.

"They are safe."

"How do you know?"

"I have just come from there. Not being known I was able to get over the
barricades and make my way here. Your family first took refuge in the
Mairie. I was there, too. Seeing that the danger was over I advised
Mme. Victor Hugo to seek some other asylum. She found shelter with her
children in the home of a chimney-sweep named Martignon who lives near
your house, under the arcades."

I knew that worthy Martignon family. This reassured me.

"And how about the riot?" I asked.

"It is a revolution," replied M. Belley. "The insurgents are in control
of Paris at this moment."

I left M. Belley and hurriedly traversed the few rooms that separated
the hall in which we held our sessions and the office occupied by the
Executive Committee.

It was a small salon belon