“They have come to draw lots to see who is to go and kill M. Thiers,” cries a red-haired gamin.—“Idiot,” retorts his comrade, “they have no arms!”—“Listen, and you will hear,” says the first, which is capital advice, if I could but follow it. The pushing becomes intolerable, when suddenly the bald head of an unfortunate citizen executes a fatal plunge—I can breathe at last—and the following words reach me pretty clearly:—“The Commune has decided that we shall choose five members who are to have the honour of escorting you, and we are to draw lots....”—“There! was I not right?” cries he of the carrotty hair; “I knew they were going to draw lots!” A cleverly administered blow, however, soon silences his elation, and we hear that the lots have been drawn, and that five members are chosen to aid “this glorious, this victorious act.” There seems more rhyme than reason in this. “An act that will be read of in the future history of France and of humanity.” Here the irrepressible breaks out again:—“Now I am sure they are going to kill M. Thiers!” Whereupon his irritated adversary seizes him by the collar, gives his head some well-applied blows against the curb-stone, and then, pushing through the crowd, carries him off bodily. As for me, my curiosity unsatisfied, I grow resigned—may the will of the Commune be done—and I give it up. More hopeless mystification from the Citizen Beslay, who regrets not having been chosen to aid in this “heroic act.” He also alludes to the drawing of lots, and I begin after all to fancy poor M. Thiers must be at the bottom of it all, but he continues:—“Citizens, what can I say after the eloquent discourse of Félix Pyat? You are about to interest yourselves in an act of fraternity....” (then something horrible is surely contemplated) “in hoisting your banner on the walls of our city, and mixing in our ranks against our enemies of Versailles.” A sudden light breaks upon me. In the meantime Citizen Beslay is embracing the nearest Freemason, while another begs the honour of being the first to plant his banner, the Persévérance, which was unfurled in 1790, on the ramparts. Here a band plays the “Marseillaise,” horribly out of tune; a red flag is given to the Freemasons, with an appropriate harangue; then the Citizen Térifocq takes back the flag, with another harangue, and ends by waving it aloft and roaring, “Now, citizens, no more words; to action!”