Two men were sitting in a cabaret near the Halles. One was dressed in the uniform of a sergeant of the National Guard. He was a powerfully-built man, with a black beard and a mustache, and a rough crop of hair that stuck out aggressively beneath his kepi. The other was some fifteen years younger; beyond the cap he wore no military uniform. He had a mustache only, and was a good-looking young fellow of the Ouvrier class.  
"I tell you it is too bad, Père Dufaure. A year ago she pretended she liked me, and the fact that she wore good dresses and was earning lots of money did not seem to make any difference in her. But now all that is changed. That foreigner[Pg 134] has turned her head. She thinks now she is going to be a lady and has thrown me over as if I were dirt, but I won't have it," and he struck his fist upon the table, "those cursed aristocrats are not to have everything their own way."
 
"Patience, Jean. Women will be women, and the right way to win her back is to have patience and wait. I don't say that just at present her head is not turned with this American, who by the way is a good Republican, and though he has money, has good notions, and holds with us that we have too long been ground down by the bourgeois, still she may tire of him after a while. He is not amusing, this American, and though Minette may like being adored, she likes being amused also. Pooh, pooh, this matter will come all right. Besides, although she likes the American at present, she thinks more of the Commune than of any lover. Have patience and do not quarrel with her. You know that I am on your side. But Minette is a good deal like what her mother was. Ah, these women! A man can do nothing with them when they make up their minds to have their own way. What can I say to her? I can not threaten to turn her out of the house for everything in it is hers. It is she who earns the money. She is too old to be beaten, and if it comes to scolding, her tongue runs faster than mine does, and you know besides she has a temper."
 
Jean nodded.
 
"She is worse than a wild-cat when her back is up," he said. "Why, when this thing first began, and I told her to beware how she went on with this American, for that I would kill him if he came in my way, she caught up a knife, and if I had not run like a rabbit, she would have stuck me, and you know how she went on, and drove me out of Montmartre. After that affair I have not dared see her."
 
"Why not let her go? and take to someone else, Jean? There are plenty of pretty girls in the quarter who would not say no to the best rising worker in his trade."
 
"It is no use, Père Dufaure, I have told myself the same a hundred times, but I cannot do it. She has her tempers, what[Pg 135] woman has not; but at other times who is so bright and gay as she is?"
 
"Well, well, Jean, we shall see what we shall see. You don't suppose that if things do not turn out well, as we hope they will do, I should let her carry out this whim of hers, and go off with the American, and leave me to shift for myself. Not such a fool. At present I say nothing. It is always better to hold your tongue as long as you can. I make him welcome when he comes to our house; we go together to the meetings, and sometimes he speaks, and speaks well, though he does not go far enough for us. Well, no one can say what may happen—he may be shot by the Germans, or he may be shot at the barricades, who knows. At any rate it is best to hold my peace. If I leave things alone, Minette is as likely as not to change her mind again, but if I were to say anything against him—first, we should have a scene; secondly, she would be more than ever determined on this whim. You must be patient, Jean, and all will come well in the end."
 
"I am not so sure of that," Jean said, sullenly. "I was as patient as I could be, but no good came of it; then, as you know, I tried to get rid of him, but failed, and had to move away, but one thing is certain, if I don't marry her he never shall. However, I can wait."
 
"That is all right, Jean; wait till our little affairs come off and the bourgeois are under our feet. There will be good posts for true citizens then, and I will see that you have one, and it will be time to talk about marriages when everything is going on well. When we once get the Germans out of the way, we shall see what we shall see, Sapristie! we will make short work of the capitalists, and as for the troops, they will have had enough fighting and will be ready enough to march off and leave us alone."
 
At the time they were talking, the couple they were speaking of were standing leaning on the parapet of the wall by the river. They met there every evening when there was no assembly of importance to attend.
 
"I wish it was all over, Minette," he said, "and that we could[Pg 136] leave the city and be off. It would be a different life for you, dear, but I hope a pleasanter one. There would be no cold weather like this, but you can sit all the year round in the veranda without needing wraps. There will be servants to wait on you, and carriages, and everything you can wish for, and when you are disposed there will be society; and as all of our friends speak French, you will soon be quite at home with them. And, what one thinks of a good deal at present, there will be fruits and flowers, and plenty to eat, and no sound of cannon, and no talk of wars. We fought out our war ten years ago."
 
"It sounds nice, Arnold, very nice, but it will be strange not to work."
 
"You won't want to work there," he said; "in the day it is so hot that you will be glad to sit indoors in a darkened room and do nothing. I shall paint a good deal, and when you have the fancy, you can sit as my model again."
 
"And is it a large city, Arnold? It seems to me now that I could not live in the country, I should soon get dreadfully tired of it."
 
"It is a large city," he said, "though, of course, not so large as Paris. There are theatres there and amusements of all sorts."
 
"I should be content with you, Arnold. It does not seem to me that I could want anything else, but after all this excitement it will seem strange to have nothing to do."
 
"I shall be glad to be out of it," he said. "Your father and the others are quite right—the rich have too much and the poor too little. The manufacturers gain fortunes, and the men whose work enriches them remain poor all their lives. Still I fear that they will go too far, and that troubles me."
 
She made a quick movement as if about to speak, but checked herself for a moment, and then said, quietly—
 
"You know the proverb, Arnold, 'One cannot make an omelette without breaking eggs.'"
 
"That is true," he said, "as to an omelette, but a change of Government can be carried out without costing life, that is unless there is resistance, and I hope there will be none here.[Pg 137] The incapables over there will slink away. Why, Flourens and a few hundred men were enough to snatch the government out of their feeble hands. If the people declare that they will govern themselves, who is to withstand them. I hope to see the triumph and then to go. You know I am not a coward, Minette; our corps have shown that they can fight, but I long for my quiet home again, with its gardens and flowers, and balmy air, and I like handling a paint-brush much better than a rifle, and above all to see you mistress of my home, but I know there is a good deal to go through first. Trochu's plans may be carried out any day."
 
"Ah! Those Prussians!" she exclaimed, in a tone of the deepest hate, with a gesture of defiance towards Versailles. "They will dare to fire at you!"
 
"Yes, I imagine they will do that, Minette," he said with a laugh, "and pretty hotly, too."
 
"Well, if they kill you," she said, passionately, "I will avenge you. I will go out through the outposts and will find my way to Versailles, and I will kill William or Bismarck. They may kill me afterwards, I care nothing for that. Charlotte Corday was a reactionist, but she slew Marat and died calmly and bravely. I could do as much and would to revenge you."
 
"I hope you would not attempt anything so mad, Minette. Of course, I must take my chance as everyone else will do, and the Prussians will be no more to blame if one of their bullets killed me than if it had struck anyone else. Everyone who goes into a battle has to run his chances. I had an elder brother killed in the civil war we had in the States. I have no great love for the North, but I do not blame them especially for the death of my brother. There were a great number killed on both sides, and that he should be among them was the fortune of war. But it is bitterly cold, Minette; let us be walking. I am glad we are not on outpost duty to-night. I put on so many flannel shirts that I can hardly button my tunic over them, but in spite of that it is cold work standing with one's hands on one's trigger looking out into the darkness. It is quite a relief when a rifle rings out either from our side or the[Pg 138] other. Then for a bit everyone is alive and active, we think the Prussians are advancing, and they think we are, and we both blaze away merrily for a bit. Then there is a lull again, and perhaps an hour or two of dreary waiting till there is a fresh alarm. As soon as we are relieved, we hurry off to our quarter, where there is sure to be a fire blazing. Then we heat up the coffee in our canteens, pouring in a little spirits, and are soon warm again."
 
"I cannot see why they don't form corps of women, Arnold; we have just as much at stake as the men have, and I am sure we should be quite as brave as the most of them, a great deal braver than the National Guard."
 
"I have no doubt you would, dear, but it will be quite time for you to fight when all the men are used up. What the women ought to do is to drive the men outside the walls. If the women were to arm themselves with mops soaked in dirty water, and were to attack every man under forty they found lurking in the streets, they would soon make a change in things. You should begin in your own quarter first, for although they are always denouncing the bourgeois for not fighting, I cannot see that there is any more eagerness to go out at Montmartre than there is in the quarter of the Bank—in fact, a great deal less."
 
"Why should the ouvriers fight with the Germans, Arnold—to them it matters little whether Paris is taken by the Germans or not—it is not they whose houses will be sacked, it is not they who will have to pay the indemnity."
 
"No, but at least they are Frenchmen. They can talk enough about the honor of France, but it is little they do to preserve it. They shout, 'the Prussians must be destroyed,' and then go off quietly to their cabarets to smoke and drink. I do not admire the bourgeois, but I do not see anything more admirable among the ouvriers. They talk grandly but they do nothing. There is no difficulty in getting volunteers for the war companies among the National Guard of the centre, though to them the extra pay is nothing; but at Belleville and Montmartre the war companies don't fill up. They rail at the bourgeois but when it comes to[Pg 139] fighting outside the walls I will wager that the shopkeepers show the most courage."
 
"They will fight when there is anything to fight for," she said, confidently, "but they don't care to waste their time on the walls when there is nothing to do, and the Germans are miles away."
 
"Well, we shall see," he replied, grimly. "Anyhow, I wish it were all over, and that we were on our way home. You have never seen a ship yet, Minette. You will be astonished when you go on board one of the great liners," and as they walked along the Boulevards he told her of the floating palaces, in one of which they were to cross the ocean, and forgetting for a time the questions that absorbed her, she listened with the interest of a child hearing a fairy-tale. When they neared Montmartre they separated, for Minette would never walk with him in her own quarter.
 
The next morning, November 28th, the order was issued that the gates were to be closed and that no one was to be allowed to pass out under any pretext whatever. No one doubted that the long-expected sally was to be carried out. Bodies of troops marched through the streets, trains of wagons with munitions of war moved in the same direction, and in an hour all Paris knew that the sortie was to take place somewhere across the loop formed by the Marne.
 
"It is for to-morrow," Pierre Leroux exclaimed, running into Cuthbert's room, "we are to parade at daybreak. The gates are shut, and troops are moving about everywhere."
 
"All right, Pierre; we have been looking for it for so long, that it comes almost as a surprise at last."
 
Cuthbert got up, made himself a cup of coffee, drank it with a piece of dry bread, and then sallied out. Mary would be on duty at ten o'clock. He knew the road she took on her way to the hospital and should meet her. In half an hour he saw the trim figure in the dark dress, and the white band round the arm.
 
"I suppose you have heard that we are going to stir up the German nest to-morrow," he said gayly.
 
"Yes, I have heard," she said, sadly, "it is very dreadful."[Pg 140]
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