One of them, tall and thin, was Monsieur Saribe, the oil merchant, and the other, short and fat, was Monsieur Parisse. Together they set out, with their valises, to reach the city, one kilometer distant. But on arriving at the gate of the port the guards crossed their bayonets, commanding them to retire. Frightened, surprised, cowed with astonishment, they retired to deliberate; then, after having taken counsel one with the other, they came back cautiously to parley, giving their names. But the soldiers evidently had strict orders, for they threatened to shoot; and the two scared travellers ran off, throwing away their valises, which impeded their flight. Making the tour of the ramparts, they presented themselves at the gate on the route to Cannes. This likewise was closed and guarded by a menacing sentinel. Messrs. Saribe and Parisse, like the prudent men they were, desisted from their efforts and went back to the station for shelter, since it was not safe to be near the fortifications after sundown. The station agent, surprised and sleepy, permitted them to stay till morning in the waiting-room. And they sat there side by side, in the dark, on the green velvet sofa, too scared to think of sleeping. It was a long and weary night for them. At half-past six in the morning they were informed that the gates were open and that people could now enter Antibes. They set out for the city, but failed to find their abandoned valises on the road. When they passed through the gates of the city, still somewhat anxious, the Commandant de Carmelin, with sly glance and mustache curled up, came himself to look at them and question them. Then he bowed to them politely, excusing himself for having caused them a bad night. But he had to carry out orders. The people of Antibes were scared to death. Some spoke of a surprise planned by the Italians, others of the landing of the prince imperial and others again believed that there was an Orleanist conspiracy. The truth was suspected only later, when it became known that the battalion of the commandant had been sent away, to a distance and that Monsieur de Carmelin had been severely punished. Monsieur Martini had finished his story. Madame Parisse returned, her promenade being ended. She passed gravely near me, with her eyes fixed on the Alps, whose summits now gleamed rosy in the last rays of the setting sun. I longed to speak to her, this poor, sad woman, who would ever be thinking of that night of love, now long past, and of the bold man who for the sake of a kiss from her had dared to put a city into a state of siege and to compromise his whole future. And to-day he had probably forgotten her, if he did not relate this audacious, comical and tender farce to his comrades over their cups.