What! Assy—Assy[42] of Creuzot—who signed before all his comrades the proclamations of the Central Committee, in virtue, not only of his ability, but in obedience to the alphabetical order of the thing—Assy no longer reigns at the Hôtel de Ville!—publishes no more decrees, discusses no longer with F. Cournet, nor with G. Tridon. Wherefore this fall after so much glory? It is whispered about that Assy has thought it prudent to put aside a few rolls of bank notes found in the drawers of the late Government. What, is that all? How long have politicians been so scrupulous? Members of the Commune, how very punctilious you have grown. Now if the Citizen Assy were accused of having in 1843 been intimately acquainted with a lady whose son is now valet to M. Thiers’ first cousin, or if he had been seen in a church, and it were clearly proved that he was there with any other intention than that of delicately picking the pockets of the faithful, then I could understand your indignation. But the idea of arresting a man because he has appropriated the booty of the traitors, is too absurd; if you go on acting in that way people will think you are growing conscientious! As to Citizen Lullier,[43] who was one of the first victims of “fraternity,” he is imprisoned because he did not succeed in capturing Mont Valérien. I think with horror that if I had been in the place of Citizen Lullier I should most certainly have had to undergo the same punishment, for how in the devil’s name I could have managed to transport that impregnable fortress on to the council-table at the Hôtel de Ville I have not the least conception. It is as bad as if you were in Switzerland, and asked the first child you met to go and fetch Mont Blanc; of course the child would go and have a game of marbles with his companions, and come back without the smallest trace of Mont Blanc in his arms, thereupon you would whip the youngster within an ace of his life. However, it appears that M. Lullier objected to being whipped, or rather imprisoned, and being as full of cunning as of valour he managed to slip out of his place of confinement, without drum or trumpet. “Dear Rochefort,” he writes to the editor of _Le Mot d’Ordre_, “you know of what infamous machinations I have been the victim.” I suppose M. Rochefort does, but I am obliged to confess that I have not the least idea, unless indeed M. Lullier means by “machinations” the order that was given him to bring Mont Valérien in his waistcoat pocket. “Imprisoned without motive,” he continues, “by order of the Central Committee, I was thrown ...” (Oh! you should not have _thrown_ M. Lullier) “into the Prefecture of Police,” (the ex-Prefecture, if you please), “and put in solitary confinement at the very moment when Paris was in want of men of action and military experience.” Oh, fie! men of the Commune, you had at your disposal a man of action—who does not know the noble actions of Citizen Lullier? A