These were his happier moments. There were other times when he realized his dire position so vividly that it seemed as though he must pound and tear at the door until somehow he smashed it open, but he knew that it would never give way. He knew that his mother had gone to Great-aunt Hortense. More than that he could not know, and he dared not think too much about his people. When he thought of Pigeon Valley, he found that it was Dian who stood out among all others. Meanwhile, Dian had walked the city from one end to another, making friends as was his wont. He became acquainted with the market gardener and went about with him to meetings of the different sections. Now and then he spoke at the meetings. When he spoke, the wrangling generally ceased for a moment, and the people listened—but only for a moment. They had no use for the message of love that he had to give. Yet they showed no animosity when his gentle, earnest face was seen among the crowds and at public meetings. He never once lost faith in his belief that the right way would be shown him. He was grateful that he had met Raoul and his master, for being with them meant being with the people, mingling with them freely. He had never gone through the Saint Frère house again, as he did not wish to run the risk of meeting Henri. Each night he slept in the hidden cellar and it was there that he thought everything out. As he paced up and down the rough, uneven floor, Dian thought that he would give up all that the future held for him of peace and quiet days to have Lisle walking beside him. When the bakery woman came in to see Lisle the next afternoon she brought with her the cake she had baked for the seed shopman’s party. The boy, Raoul, was to come for it at four o’clock. Her man was going to the supper. There was to be roasted suckling pig. Indeed, it was to be a fine affair and much discussion was to take place. “They’ll talk, but they won’t get anywhere; they never do,” sniffed the woman as she set the cake down on the table. It was already placed in its wide green box, and it was surrounded by soft pink paper. It was a superb, a fantastic cake—four tiers of golden fluff, with glimpses of cream and marrons between layers and a gauze covering of spun sugar holding it all in place. It was topped with a glittering icing. The icing was festooned with candied apricots and cherries, in the midst of which stood a little spun-sugar figure wearing a tiny scarlet cap decorated with a tri-color rosette, the emblem of the revolution!