“Is that meant for a day's subsistence?” asked I. He stared at me calmly for a few seconds, but made no reply. “I asked the question,” began I, with an attempt to apologize, when he interrupted me thus:-- “Are you one of the Troupe Dorée, and ask this? Is it from you, who live in fine houses and eat sumptuously, that comes the inquiry, how men like me exist?” “I am newly come to Paris; I am only a few hours here.” “See here, comrades,” cried the old man, in a loud and ringing voice to the crowd, “mark what the 'Sections' are doing: drafting the peasants from the Provinces, dressing them in their livery, and arming them to slaughter us. Starvation marches too slowly for the wishes of these aristocrats!” “Down with the 'aristos,' down with the 'Troupe!'” broke in one wild yell from the multitude, who turned at once towards me with looks of menace. “Ay,” continued the old man, waving his hand to maintain silence, “he dared to taunt me with the pittance we receive, and to scoff at our mendicancy!” “Down with him! down with him!” cried the crowd; but, interposing his staff like a barrier against the mob, the old fellow said,-- “Spare him, comrades; he is, as you see, only a boy; let him live to be wiser and better. Come, lad, break that sword upon your knee, tear off that green cockade, and go back to your village again!” I stepped back, and, drawing my sword, motioned to those in front to give way. “I'll cut down the first that opposes me!” cried I, with a wave of the steel round my head; and at the same instant I dashed forward.