“I understand you. Let us think only of one thing. Let us save the country!” As I was withdrawing Lamartine quitted a group and came to me. “Adieu,” he said. “But do not forget this: do not judge me too hastily; I am not the Minister of War.” The day before, as the riot was spreading, Cavaignac, after a few measures had been taken, said to Lamartine: “That’s enough for to-day.” It was 5 o’clock. “What!” exclaimed Lamartine. “Why, we have still four hours of daylight before us! And the riot will profit by them while we are losing them!” He could get nothing from Cavaignac except: “That’s enough for to-day!” On the 24th, about 3 o’clock, at the most critical moment, a Representative of the people, wearing his sail across his shoulder, arrived at the Mairie of the Second Arrondissement, in the Rue Chauchat, behind the Opera. He was recognised. He was Lagrange. The National Guards surrounded him. In a twinkling the group became menacing: “It is Lagrange! the man of the pistol shot!* What are you doing here? You are a coward! Get behind the barricades. That is your place--your friends are there--and not with us! They will proclaim you their chief; go on! They at any rate are brave! They are giving their blood for your follies; and you, you are afraid! You have a dirty duty to do, but at least do it! Get out of here! Begone!” * It was popularly but erroneously believed that Lagrange fired the shot that led to the massacre in the Boulevard des Capucines on February 23. Lagrange endeavoured to speak. His voice was drowned by hooting. This is how these madmen received the honest man who after fighting for the people wanted to risk his life for society. June 25. The insurgents were firing throughout the whole length of the Boulevard Beaumarchais from the tops of the new houses. Several had ambushed themselves in the big house in course of construction opposite the Galiote. At the windows they had stuck dummies,--bundles of straw with blouses and caps on them. I distinctly saw a man who had entrenched himself behind a barricade of bricks in a corner of the balcony on the fourth floor of the house which faces the Rue du Pont-aux-Choux. The man took careful aim and killed a good many persons. It was 3 o’clock. The troops and mobiles fringed the roofs of the Boulevard du Temple and returned the fire of the insurgents. A cannon had just been drawn up in front of the Gaité to demolish the house of the Galiote and sweep the whole boulevard. I thought I ought to make an effort to put a stop to the bloodshed, if possible, and advanced to the corner of the Rue d’Angoulême. When I reached the little turret near there I was greeted with a fusillade. The bullets pattered upon the turret behind me, and ploughed up the playbills with which it was covered. I detached a strip of paper as a memento. The bill to which it belonged announced for that very Sunday a fête at the Château des Flours, “with a thousand lanterns.”