“Well, then,” said the ouvrier, “I suppose you are perfectly competent to take care of yourself. There will be good fun in the streets, if you choose to run the risk of seeing it; at the same time there is safety in stone walls. ’Gad, I think this will astonish plain John! There’s nothing like it in his _Lives of the Chancellors_. I don’t want, however, to see our friend the delegate absolutely sacrificed. Will you do me the favour to inquire for him to-morrow at the barricade down there? I will answer for it that he does not make his escape before then; and now for Ledru Rollin!” With these words, and a friendly nod, the eccentric artisan departed, at a pace which showed how little his activity had been impaired by years. Filled with painful and conflicting thoughts, I followed the course of another street which led me to the Rue Rivoli. Here I had a capital opportunity of witnessing the progress of the revolution. The street was crowded with the people shouting, yelling, and huzzaing; and a large body of the National Guard, drawn up immediately in front of me, seemed to be in high favour. Indeed, I was not surprised at this, on discovering that the officer in command was no less a person than my illustrious friend De la Pailleterie. He looked as warlike as a Lybian lion, though it was impossible to comprehend what particular section of the community were the objects of his sublime anger. Indeed, it was rather difficult to know what the gentlemen in blouses wanted. Some were shouting for reform, as if that were a tangible article which could be handed them from a window; others demanded the abdication of ministers—rather unreasonably I thought, since at that moment there was no vestige of a ministry in France; whilst the most practical section of the mob was clamorous for the head of Guizot. Presently the shakos and bright bayonets of a large detachment of infantry were seen approaching, amidst vehement cries of “Vive la Ligne!” They marched up to the National Guard, who still maintained their ranks. The leading officer looked puzzled. “Who are these?” he said, pointing with his sword to the Guard. “I have the honour to inform Monsieur,” said Monte-Christo, stepping forward, “that these are the second legion of the National Guard!” “Vive la Garde Nationale!” cried the officer. “Vive la Ligne!” reciprocated the Marquis. Both gentlemen then saluted, and interchanged snuff-boxes, amidst tremendous cheering from the populace. “And who are these?” continued the officer, pointing to the blouses on the pavement. “These are the people,” replied Monte-Christo. “They must disperse. My orders are peremptory,” said the regular. “The National Guard will protect them. Monsieur, respect the people!” “They must disperse,” repeated the officer. “They shall not,” replied Monte-Christo. The moment was critical. “In that case,” replied the officer, after a pause, “I shall best fulfil my duty by wishing Monsieur a good evening.”