Shutters were hurried up everywhere; cabs carried off distracted _rentiers_ and their smaller belongings; policemen and Municipal Guards barred either end of the rue de Chabrol, and permitted only people who had business in the street to pass them; and with the cutting off of water and gas supplies, the siege of Fort Chabrol began in earnest. The Holder of the Fort—though the Parisian, interested in “affaires,” studied him attentively—could only be observed from a distance. The curious, with the aid of opera-glasses, discovered him sitting at an open window with rifles resting on either side of him; or beheld him walking about the roof amidst the chimney-pots—an extraordinary figure in his sombrero. Now and again he discharged revolvers at the heavens: a proceeding that never failed to arouse the enthusiasm of his fellow-prisoners. Then leaning perilously over the parapet or out of a window, Guérin would apostrophise the soldiers and policemen below as “brigands” and “assassins”; and throw down pencilled messages (addressed to the “Ministry of Traitors” and the “Government of Forgers”) inviting all State officials to come to the rue de Chabrol and be shot through their “infamous heads” or their “abominable hearts.” When particularly indignant, Guérin would hurl forth a cup, a bottle, a saucepan—but the missiles invariably fell wide of the mark; and the Guards and police (whilst smoking cigarettes) snapped their fingers and laughed back mockingly and sardonically at the rebel. It was weary work for the besiegers; the air was stale and sickly with disinfectants; and often it rained. Guérin blessed the downpours. He was short of water. When the skies were generous, he brought up buckets and basins and a great bath on to the roof—and shook his fist exultingly at the watchers beneath as the rain pattered into and filled those receptacles; and next, coming to the edge of the parapet with a glass in hand, drank to the death of the “Government of Assassins.” Indeed, quite an orgy of water-drinking on the roof of the Fort; for the ex-butchers, with the bull-dog faces, uproariously proposed the health of their chief, and then emptied their glasses into the street to show that they had no fear of suffering from thirst.