The show came to an end. There was not the usual rush for the doors when the curtain fell on the final scene of the little _revue_. "The best part is still to come!" whispered my companion. A murmur ran through the crowd, and swelled into "_La Marseillaise! La Marseillaise!_" Laquarrière nudged me with his elbow. "Now we're off!" He assured me that the orchestra had had orders to delay striking up in order to give the audience time to work itself up. True enough the uproar was increasing. The audience were on their feet, waving their sticks, and violently demanding: "_La Marseillaise!_" Laquarrière called my attention to the courtesans in the promenade, who, delighting in an evening which promised to be fruitful, stood on tiptoe leaning on the arms of their chance-met companions, and stamping and shouting: "_La Marseillaise!_" The conductor's bâton gave three short taps. On the sudden abatement of the tumult, rose the superb rhythm of the opening notes,--a virile introduction. All the men had bared their heads simultaneously. No; not all. "Hats off!" shouted someone behind us. For whom was the order meant? For Laquarrière, I could see. He shrugged his shoulders to show that it pleased him to thwart such a fool. But the moment was ill-chosen. Other voices, already grown threatening, repeated: "Hats off! Hats off!" He gave way, smiling scornfully. The orchestra excelled themselves. At the opening of the refrain the general attention was caught and held by the imperative call of the repeated high note, and the feelings of the audience carried away by the well-marked rhythm of the melody. A warlike jollity was abroad. I swear I had a momentary vision of risen troops hurling themselves in serried ranks against the hostile masses. I shivered. I was entering into communion with the multitude.... Laquarrière leant towards me and made some remark which I did not catch, but which I had to acknowledge with a smile.... My trance was over, I listened untroubled to the crash of the brasses, as it grew in intensity and rose headlong to the heights, to die away in wild flourishes. Then from two thousand throats there rose a clamour which rolled like thunder round the roof. A new thrill ran through me; I was just going to shout ... when Laquarrière seized me by the arm. "Let's be off!" "Nice patriots!" he mocked; "all these fine fellows who came to gaze at a pretty pair of legs." That restored things to their proper proportions. "But what about you? It shook you up a bit, eh?" I denied it obstinately. He walked back with me. We talked of nothing but the most ordinary things on the way. I was preoccupied, almost melted. Why?... good heavens! because in a few minutes I was going to part from the only friend of my childhood, from the only fellow being who really knew me.... Should we ever see each other again?