"I go to the Rue Pagevin. There at the corner of the Place des Victoires there is a well-constructed barricade. In the adjoining barricade in the Rue Jean Jacques Rousseau, the troops this morning made no prisoners. The soldiers had killed every one. There are corpses as far as the Place des Victoires. The Pagevin barricade held its own. There are fifty men there, well armed. I enter. 'Is all going on well?' 'Yes.' 'Courage.' I press all these brave hands; they make a report to me. They had seen a Municipal Guard smash in the head of a dying man with the butt end of his musket. A pretty young girl, wishing to go home, took refuge in the barricade. There, terrified, she remained for an hour. When all danger was over, the chef of the barricade caused her to be reconducted home by the eldest of his men. "As I was about to leave the barricade Pagevin, they brought me a prisoner, a police spy, they said. "He expected to be shot. I had him set at liberty." Bancel was in this barricade of the Rue Pagevin. We shook hands. He asked me,-- "Shall we conquer?" "Yes," I answered. We then could hardly entertain a doubt. De Flotte and Bancel wished to accompany me, fearing that I should be arrested by the regiment guarding the Bank. The weather was misty and cold, almost dark. This obscurity concealed and helped us. The fog was on our side. As we reached the corner of the Rue de la Vrillière, a group on horseback passed by. It consisted of a few others, preceded by a man who seemed a soldier, but who was not in uniform. He wore a cloak with a hood. De Flotte nudged me with his elbow, and whispered,-- "Do you know Fialin?" I answered,-- "No." "Have you seen him? "No." "Do you wish to see him?" "No." "Look at him." I looked at him. This man in truth was passing before us. It was he who preceded the group of officers. He came out of the Bank. Had he been there to effect a new forced loan? The people who were at the doors looked at him with curiosity, and without anger. His entire bearing was insolent. He turned from time to time to say a word to one of his followers. This little cavalcade "pawed the ground" in the mist and in the mud. Fialin had the arrogant air of a man who caracoles before a crime. He gazed at the passers-by with a haughty look. His horse was very handsome, and, poor beast, seemed very proud. Fialin was smiling. He had in his hand the whip that his face deserved. He passed by. I never saw the man except on this occasion. De Flotte and Bancel did not leave me until they had seen me get into my vehicle. My true-hearted coachman was waiting for me in the Rue de la Vrillière. He brought me back to No 15, Rue Richelieu. CHAPTER XI. THE BARRICADE OF THE RUE MESLAY