"Mother," put in Velleda after listening a few seconds, "it is the call to arms. There must be some fear that the agitation that has reigned in Paris since yesterday may spread." "Jeanike," Madam Lebrenn called out to the maid servant, "Monsieur Lebrenn's National Guard uniform must be got ready. He may want it on his return home." "Yes, madam, I shall see to it," answered Jeanike, going to the rear room. "Gildas," Madam Lebrenn proceeded, "can you see the St. Denis Gate from where you are?" "Yes, madam," answered Gildas, all in a tremble; "would you want me to go there?" "No; be at ease; only let me know whether there is much of a crowd gathering at that end of the street." "Oh! yes, madam," answered Gildas, craning his neck. "It looks like an ant-hill. Oh, good God! Madam! Madam! Oh, my God!" "What is it now, Gildas?" "Oh, madam! Down there--the drums--they were about to turn the corner--" "Well?" "A lot of men in blouses stopped them--they have broken the drums. Listen! Madam! Look! The whole crowd is running this way. Do you hear them screaming, madam? Should we not close the shop?" "It is very evident, Gildas, you are none too brave," said Mademoiselle Lebrenn without raising her eyes from her needlework. At that moment a man clad in a blouse and dragging with difficulty a small handbarrow that seemed to be heavily loaded, stopped before the door, pulled the barrow up alongside the sidewalk, stepped into the shop, and accosted the merchant's wife: "Monsieur Lebrenn, madam?" "This is his place." "I have here four bales for him." "Linen, I suppose?" asked Madam Lebrenn. "Well, madam, I think so," answered the messenger with a smile. "Gildas," she resumed, addressing the good fellow, who was casting ever more uneasy glances into the street, "help monsieur carry the bales to the rear of the shop." The messenger and Gildas raised the bales out of the barrow. They were long and thick rolls, and were wrapped in coarse grey cloth. "This must be fiercely close-packed linen," remarked Gildas as, with great effort, he was helping the barrowman to carry in the last of the four rolls. "This thing is as heavy as lead." "Do you really think so, my friend?" said the man in the blouse, fixedly looking at Gildas, who modestly lowered his eyes and blushed. The barrowman thereupon addressed himself to Madam Lebrenn, saying: "There, my errand is done, madam. I must, above all things, recommend to you that the bales be kept in a dry place, and no fire near, until Monsieur Lebrenn arrives. That linen is very--very delicate." And the barrowman mopped the sweat from his forehead. "You must have had work to wheel those bales here all alone," remarked Madam Lebrenn kindly; and opening the drawer in which she kept the small change, she took out a ten-sou piece, which she pushed over the desk to the barrowman. "Take this for your pains." "Thank you very much, madam," answered the man, smiling. "I have been paid."