"Pardon, my friend," I said to him, "I will give up the rifles as they are yours; but give me the pistols that I presented for the second representation of _Richard_: not only are they valuable ones but, also, they were a present." "Hide the pistols!" cried Harel to the man who had charge of the properties. They hid them so well that I never saw them again. Furious, I went up to the second storey. Through the small windows of the theatre, forming a long square, I could see all that was happening on the boulevard. The soldiers were still at their post, and my friend--the man with the double-barrelled gun, policeman's helmet and charivari--was with them yet. I was mad that I had not even the smallest pea-shooter. Whilst I was looking through this aperture, so narrow that it permitted me to see without being seen, an act of great signification was taking place opposite the theatre. A dragoon rushed up at full speed, bringing an order. A child was hidden behind a tree on the boulevard with a stone in his hand. Just as the dragoon passed by, the child hurled the stone and it struck the soldier's helmet. The dragoon hesitated, but did not stop to pursue the child, and went his way at full gallop. But a woman--the child's mother, probably--came out stealthily behind him, seized him by the collar and gave him a good hiding. I lowered my head. "The women are not with us this time," I said; "we are lost!" At that moment, I heard Harel calling me in a pitiful voice. I went down. By the door which I had burst open in order to get into the theatre, a score of men had entered and were demanding arms. They, too, had bethought themselves of _Napoleon à Schönbrünn._ Harel already saw his theatre being pillaged from top to bottom, and called me to help him, relying on my name, already popular, and upon my uniform as an artillery-man. I went and faced the crowd, which stopped when it caught sight of me. "Friends," I said to them, "you are honest men." One of them recognised me. "Stop," he said, "it is M. Dumas, the commissioner of the artillerymen." "Precisely; so you see we can understand one another." "Why, yes! since you are on our side." "Then listen to me, I beg." "We will." "You do not want to ruin a man who is of your own opinions, an exile of 1815, a prefect of the Empire?" "We? we only want arms." "Very well, then, M. Harel, the manager, was prefect during the Hundred Days and was exiled by the Bourbons in 1815." "Then _Vive M. Harel!..._ Let him give us his rifles and put himself at our head." "A manager of a theatre is not master of his opinions; he is dependent on the Government." "If he will let us take his rifles we will not ask anything further from him." "Be patient and we shall have them! But I will give them to you." "Bravo!" "How many of you are there?" "About a score." "Harel, have twenty rifles brought out, my friend." Then, turning towards the good fellows, I said--