Even before the Royal abdication was declared, even before it was signed, the troops of the Line in the courtyard of the palace--infantry, artillery, dragoons--to the number at least of twenty-five thousand, were summoned to surrender their posts, while the fraternal shout, "Vive la Ligne!" elicited from the lips of many of the soldiers the answering cry of "Vive la Reforme!" In vain was it that Marshal Bugeaud, the veteran of a hundred battles, menaced and blasphemed. In vain did his old protege and subaltern, but now bitter foe, General Lamoriciere, dashing from one end of the line to the other on his white horse, entreat and persuade with his eloquent tongue. The people insisted--the National Guard fraternized--the Line wavered. And yet most imminent at that moment was their own peril. The 1st, 2d, 3d, 4th, 6th and 10th Legions of the National Guard invested the Tuileries, and others were on the march, accompanied by countless masses of the people. Within the courtyard were twenty-five thousand of the best troops in the world of every arm, and a park of ordnance charged to the muzzle frowned upon the dense masses which swarmed the Place du Carrousel. The watchful artilleryman stood at his cannon's breech, with the lighted linstock in his hand, which he kept alive by constant motion. He awaited but a word from the pale, firm lips of General Lamoriciere, and that vast and magnificent space now swarming with life would have been swept as if by destruction's besom. Death in all its most horrid forms would have been there. That pavement would have run with gore! The facades of those splendid edifices would have been polluted with shreds and fragments of human flesh, and spattered with human blood. Yet dreadful would have been the sure retribution! Indiscriminate massacre of all unfortunate souls within that Royal palace would have been inevitable and instantaneous. Yet, such a catastrophe might be precipitated by a single word!--the avalanche might be started by a single breath; and blood once shed, Paris would be deluged! "In the name of the people I demand to speak with the commandant of the Tuileries!" shouted a young man in the uniform of an officer of the National Guard, advancing to the iron railing of the court near the Rue de Rivoli. It was Lieutenant Aubert Roche. The commandant was sent for and immediately arrived. "Monsieur, you are lost!" cried the young man. "You are surrounded by sixty thousand men of the National Guard, and one hundred thousand of the people of Paris!" "What is demanded?" was the trembling response. "That you evacuate the Tuileries!--resign it to the National Guard!" "The troops shall be withdrawn, Monsieur. Orders for their retirement to the palace shall be issued instantly." "That will not do! The palace must be evacuated," insisted the Lieutenant, "or the people will raze it to the ground!" "Come with me, Monsieur," said the commandant.