A young man, editor of the provincial Republican journal, came out of the crowd, and declared that, if they would give him a copy at once, before two hours should elapse the Proclamation should be posted at all the street corners in Paris. I asked him,-- "What is your name?" He answered me,-- "Millière." Millière. It is in this manner that this name made its first appearance in the gloomy days of our History. I can still see that pale young man, that eye at the same time piercing and half closed, that gentle and forbidding profile. Assassination and the Pantheon awaited him. He was too obscure to enter into the Temple, he was sufficiently deserving to die on its threshold. Baudin showed him the copy which he had just made. Millière went up to him. "You do not know me," said he; "my name is Millière; but I know you, you are Baudin." Baudin held out his hand to him. I was present at the handshaking between these two spectres. Xavier Durrieu, who was editor of the _Révolution_ made the same offer as Millière. A dozen Representatives took their pens and sat down, some around a table, others with a sheet of paper on their knees, and called out to me,-- "Dictate the Proclamation to us." I had dictated to Baudin, "Louis Napoléon Bonaparte is a traitor." Jules Favre requested the erasure of the word Napoléon, that name of glory fatally powerful with the People and with the Army, and that there should be written, "Louis Bonaparte is a traitor." "You are right," said I to him. A discussion followed. Some wished to strike out the word "Prince." But the Assembly was impatient. "Quick! quick!" they cried out. "We are in December, the days are short," repeated Joigneaux. Twelve copies were made at the same time in a few minutes. Schoelcher, Rey, Xavier Durrieu, and Millière each took one, and set out in search of a printing office. As they went out a man whom I did not know, but who was greeted by several Representatives, entered and said, "Citizens, this house is marked. Troops are on the way to surround you. You have not a second to lose." Numerous voices were raised,-- "Very well! Let them arrest us!" "What does it matter to us?" "Let them complete their crime." "Colleagues," said I, "let us not allow ourselves to be arrested. After the struggle, as God pleases; but before the combat,--No! It is from us that the people are awaiting the initiative. If we are taken, all is at an end. Our duty is to bring on the battle, our right is to cross swords with the _coup d'état_. It must not be allowed to capture us, it must seek us and not find us. We must deceive the arm which it stretches out against us, we must remain concealed from Bonaparte, we must harass him, weary him, astonish him, exhaust him, disappear and reappear unceasingly, change our hiding-place, and always fight him, be always before him, and never beneath his hand. Let us not leave the field. We have not numbers, let us have daring."