“Monsieur,” said he, in a low voice, so as not to be overheard, “do you approve of this plan of action, which consists, in case of attack, of shooting from the windows on the assailants?”—“A necessity of street fighting,” said I. “Let us hope we shall not have to try it.”—“Oh! of course; but I should have preferred it if they had taken other measures.”—“Why?” I asked.—“Why, you see, when we are in the houses the insurgents will try to force their way in.”—I could not see what he was driving at, so I said, “Most probably.”—“But if they do get in?” he insisted:—“I will trust to our being reinforced from the Place de la Bourse before they can effect an entrance.”—“Doubtless! doubtless!” he answered; but I saw he was anything but convinced.—“But you know reinforcements often arrive too late, and if the Federals should get in, we shall be shot down like dogs in those rooms overhead!”—I acknowledged that this would be, to say the least, disagreeable, but argued that in time of war one must take one’s chance.—“Do you think, then, monsieur,” he continued, “that, if in the event of the insurgents entering we were to look out for a back door to escape by, we should be acting the part of cowards?”—“Of cowards? no; but of excessively prudent individuals? yes.”:—“Well, monsieur, I am prudent, and there is an end of it!” exclaimed my comrade, with an air of triumph, “and I think I have found——” —“The back door in question?”—“Just go; look down that passage in front of us; at the end there is a door which leads—where do you think?”—“Into the Passage des Panoramas, does it not?”—“Yes, monsieur, and now you see what I mean.”—I told him I did not think I did.—“Why, you see,” he explained, “when the enemy comes we must rush into that passage, shut the lower door, and make for our post at the windows, where we will do our duty bravely to our last cartridge. But suppose, in the meantime, that those devils, succeed in breaking open the lower door with the butt end of their muskets—and it is not very strong—what shall we do then?”—“Why, of course,” I said, “we must plant ourselves at the top of the staircase and receive them at the point of our bayonets.”—“By no means;” he expostulated.—“But we must; it is our duty.”—“Oh! I fancied we might have gained the door that leads into the passage,” he went on, looking rather shame-faced.—“What, run away!”—“No, not exactly; only find some place of safety!”—“Well, if it comes to that,” I replied, “you may do just as you like; only I warn you that the passage is occupied by a hundred of our men, and that all the outlets are barricaded.”—“No, not all,” he said with conviction, “and that is why I appeal to you. You are a journalist, are you not?”—“Sometimes.”—“Yes, but you are; and you know actors and all those sort of people, and you go behind the scenes, I dare say, and know where the actors dress themselves, and all that.”—I looked at my brave comrade in some surprise, but he continued without