But from which side did the first shot come? On this point everyone has something to say, and no one knows what to believe. Official reports are looked for with the utmost impatience. The walls, generally so communicative, are mute up to this hour. The least improbable of the versions circulated is the following: At break of day some shots are said to have been exchanged between the Federal advanced guard and the patrols of the Versailles troops. None dead or wounded; only powder wasted, happily. A little later, and a few minutes after the arrival of General Vinoy at Mont Valérien, a messenger with a flag of truce, preceded by a trumpeter and accompanied by two _sergents de ville_ (inevitably), is said to have presented himself at the bridge of Courbevoie. The name of the messenger has been given,—Monsieur Pasquier, surgeon-in-chief to the regiment of mounted _gendarmes_. Two of the National Guards go to meet him; after some words exchanged, one of the Federals blows out Monsieur Pasquier’s brains with his revolver, and ten minutes later Mont Valérien opens a formidable fire, which continues as fiercely four hours afterwards. Meanwhile the drams beat to arms, on all sides. A considerable number of battalions defile along the Boulevard Montmartre; more than twenty thousand men, some say, who pretend to know. On they march, singing and shouting “_Vive la Commune! Vive la République!_” They are answered by a few shouts. These are not the Montmartre and Belleville guards alone; peaceful faces of citizens and merchants may be seen under the military _képis_, and many hands are white as no workman’s are. They march in good order,—they are calm and resolved; one feels that these men are ready to die for a cause that they believe to be just. I raise my hat as they pass; one must do honour to those who, even if they be guilty, push their devotion so far as to expose themselves to death for their convictions. But what are these convictions? What is the Commune? The men who sit at the Hôtel de Ville have published no programme, yet they kill and are killed for the sake of the Commune. Oh, words! words! What power they have over you, heroic and most simple people! In the evening out came a proclamation. There was so great a crowd wherever it was posted up that I had not the chance of copying it; but it ran somewhat in these terms:— “CITIZENS,—This morning the Royalists have ATTACKED. “Impatient, before our moderation they have ATTACKED. “Unable to bring French bayonets against us, they have opposed us with the Imperial Guard and Pontifical Zouaves. “They have bombarded the inoffensive village of Neuilly. “Charette’s _chouans_, Cathelineau’s _Vendéens_, Trochu’s _Bretons_, Valentin’s _gendarmes_, have rushed upon us. “There are dead and wounded. “Against this attack, renewed from the Prussians, Paris should rise to a man. “Thanks to the support of the National Guard, the victory will be ours!”