'What is to be done?' was shouted; 'how shall we know the friends of liberty?' 'Let us adopt a cockade,' cried Camille; 'then we shall know those who are on our side from our foes.' 'A cockade, a cockade!' was shouted. 'Ah! Camille, dear, brave Camille!' shrieked Monsieur Louison; 'I will protect you. They shall pass over my body before they touch you.' And he beat his way with the broom-handle through the crowd towards the table. 'Coco!' screamed his wife; 'you fool, you ape! The potage à la vermicelle will be burnt.' 'Damn the vermicelle!' exclaimed the white man, stationing himself like a sentinel before the table; 'I tell you, woman, I will shed the last drop of my potage--I mean my blood.' 'Never mind what you mean,' called his incensed wife; 'I will have you down into your hole again.' She struggled after him, but found it impossible to force her way through the crowd, being unprovided with a weapon, and being corpulent, whilst Coco was lean. 'What colour will you have for your cockade?' asked Desmoulins, his clear voice pealing above the hoarse mutterings of the excited people. 'Will you have green, the colour of hope, or the blue of Cincinnatus, the colour of American liberty and of democracy?' Some shouted, 'Do you choose, Camille!' Others cried 'blue,' but the call of the majority was for green; 'green, green, the hue of Hope!' The young man waited, the cries for blue ceased, and presently as with one voice the whole heaving mass of people roared 'Green!' 'Very well, my friends, let green be the colour. Who will provide me with ribbon?' A few moments after a number of rolls of silk ribbon of various shades of green were handed to him. A mercer's shop in the Palais Royal had yielded up its stock, and, when money had been offered in payment, the mercer had refused it. Camille adorned his own cap with a rosette, placed it on his head, and then proceeded to attach scraps of green ribbon to the hats which were passed to him, and which M. Louison presented to him in order at the end of his broom. 'The ribbon is expended, my friends,' called Camille; 'fetch me some more.' 'There is no more to be got,' shouted some one in the crowd. 'No more ribbon!' exclaimed Camille; 'well, let us take leaves from the trees and pin them to our caps.' Instantly lads and men began to climb the young trees and tear down the branches. Each bough was seized upon before it touched the ground, and the foliage was torn off by eager hands. Some of the leaves were trampled under foot, and more were clamoured for. The crowd had been gathering thicker every moment, pouring in from the streets, and the whole garden was densely packed with men and women. The words of the orator were flung along the mob, from voice to voice; the mob swayed and roared, and cheered, like one living body, not as an assemblage of individuals each with a will and thoughts of his own.