And, leaving the barricade to be guarded by those who had helped in its construction, he crossed the Delorme passage, went along the rue de Rivoli and reached the Vaudeville. People were just going in. "There shall be no play while fighting is going on!" he said; "give the people back their money!" Then, to those who persisted in going in-- "Pardon, messieurs," he said--"there shall be no laughing at the Vaudeville whilst Paris is in tears." And he began trying to shut the gate. "Monsieur," a voice asked, "why are you closing the Vaudeville?" "Why? ... Because I am the manager of the theatre and choose to close it." "Yes, but the Government does not choose to do so: in the name of the Government I order you to leave it open!" "Who are you?" "Heavens! you know me well enough." "Possibly, but I want those who are listening and taking part in this debate to know who you are too." "I am M. Mazue, Superintendent of Police." "Well, then, Monsieur Mazue, Police Superintendent, look out for yourself!" replied Arago, pushing against the grating; "those who do not go will soon be crushed." "Monsieur Arago, to-morrow you will be no longer manager of the Vaudeville!" "Monsieur Mazue, to-morrow you will no longer be the Superintendent of Police." "We shall see about that, Monsieur Arago!" "I hope so, Monsieur Mazue!" With the help of two scene-shifters, Étienne closed the grille, in spite of the efforts of the police officers; then, leaving by the stage door, he began the work of closing the other theatres--an act that had an immense influence upon that evening's proceedings and upon those of the next day. All these details were related to us behind the carefully closed doors of the café Gobillard. We were there to the number of three or four and, as we had been rushing about the whole day, we were dying with hunger. We ordered supper. The topic of our conversation can easily be guessed. Some said that the agitation of the hour was of not more significance than that of 1827, and that the riot had not strength to rise to the proportions of a revolution, but would fail in like manner. Others, and I among them, believed, on the contrary, that we were but at the prologue of the comedy and that the morrow would show a different state of things altogether. We were in the full flow of this discussion when the sound of firing startled us and made us shudder. It was fired in the square. Almost immediately there was a cry of "To arms!" followed by a noise like that of a hand-to-hand combat. "You see," I said, "the drama begins!"