We now emerged into an open court, lighted by a solitary lamp. It was apparently deserted, but, on a low whistle from Monsieur Albert, some twenty or thirty individuals in blouses rushed forth from the doorways and surrounded us. I own I did not feel remarkably comfortable at the moment; for although it was clear to me that our guide had merely been amusing himself at the expense of Bagsby, the apparition of his confederates was rather sudden and startling. As for Bagsby, he evidently expected no better fate than an immediate conduct to the block. “You come late, _mon capitaine_,” said a bloused veteran, armed with a mattock. “They have the start of us already in the Rue des Petits Champs.” “Never mind, _grognard_! we are early enough for the ball,” said M. Albert. “Have you every thing ready as I desired?” “All ready—spades, levers, pickaxes, and the rest.” “Arms?” “Enough to serve our purpose, and we shall soon have more. But who are these with you?” “Fraternisers—two bold Englishmen, who are ready to die for freedom!” “_Vivent les Anglais, et à bas les tyrans!_” shouted the blouses. “This citizen,” continued Albert, indicating the unhappy Bagsby, “is a Cobdenist and a delegate. He has sworn to remain at the barricades until the last shot is fired, and to plant the red banner of the emancipated people upon its summit. His soul is thirsting for fraternity. Brothers! open to him your arms.” Hereupon a regular scramble took place for the carcass of Mr Hutton Bagsby. Never surely was so much love lavished upon any human creature. Patriot after patriot bestowed on him the full-flavoured hug of fraternity, and he emerged from their grasp very much in the tattered condition of a scarecrow. “Give the citizen delegate a blouse and a pickaxe,” quoth Albert, “and then for the barricade. You have your orders—execute them. Up with the pavement, down with the trees; fling over every omnibus and cab that comes in your way, and fight to the last drop of your blood for France and her freedom. Away!” With a tremendous shout the patriots rushed off, hurrying Bagsby along with them. The unfortunate man offered no resistance, but the agony depicted on his face might have melted the heart of a millstone. Albert remained silent until the group were out of sight, and then burst into a peal of laughter. “That little man,” said he, “will gather some useful experiences to-night that may last him as long as he lives. As for you, Mr Dunshunner, whose name and person are well known to me, I presume you have no ambition to engage in any such architectural constructions?” I modestly acknowledged my aversion to practical masonry.