"You think it singular that a revolutionist should have feelings of
friendship for a policeman? Singular it is, and only possible upon one
condition--that the policeman's daughter is beautiful, and that the
revolutionist is in love with her. I myself--I, whom policemen
yesterday pursued through the kitchen and offices to the back door, was
at the time of the siege of Paris in love with the daughter of a
_sergent de ville_.
"Her name was Fifine, and she was more beautiful than I can tell
you--dark, with bright eyes, and a complexion like a peach in bloom, and
the tender, coaxing manner which a man delights in. Her father, the
Pere Dubois, occupied an apartment in the same house with me at
Montmartre; and as he was aware of my desire for the regeneration of the
world, ferocious pleasantries used to pass between us.
"'_Voyons_, rascal!' he used to say to me. 'If it were not that Fifine
would cry, I would march you straight off to the _depot_ and have you
locked up there, so that you could do no harm.'
"'Old man!' I answered. 'If it were not that Fifine would cry, then I
would pluck you by that nose of yours and drag you along the
_boulevard_, an object of derision to all Paris.'
"'Name of a dog!' he retorted.
"'Name of a pipe!' I rejoined. And then I conciliated him.
"'Come now,' I said. 'For Fifine's sake, let us be friends. For
Fifine's sake, let us swear a great oath, like the Homeric heroes, that
if ever we meet in a battle, or even in a riot, we will spare each
other.'
"The Pere Dubois knew but little of the Homeric heroes, though he
understood that they had distinguished themselves in the Napoleonic
wars. None the less, he swore the oath over a good bottle of red wine,
concluding philosophically--
"'Fifine is a good girl. I trust her. I shall tell her what to say to
you, and she will reclaim you and make a good citizen of you yet.'
"To which I replied--
"'Pere Dubois, you are very amiable. In compliance with your wishes, I
will take quiet walks with Mademoiselle Fifine in the sheltered woods of
the Buttes Chaumont, so that she may have every opportunity of
converting me to your views. If the weather is fine, we will take such
a walk to-morrow.'
"He grunted, but agreed. Perhaps, if he could have foreseen--but it is
seldom given to a policeman to see as far into the future as a
revolutionist. And now, perhaps, you picture Fifine imploring me with
persuasive tears to turn my back upon the revolution and apply for a
post in the _gendarmerie_! Then you do not know human nature; you do not
know women; you do not know Jean Antoine Stromboli Kosnapulski!
"What is it that a woman likes in a man? She likes him to be different
from all other men. She likes him to be strong and masterful, taking
his own course and towing her like a little pinnace in his wake. If
need be, she will even pique him to perversity; though, in my case, that
necessity did not arise. So you must not be astonished when I tell you
what Fifine actually said to me was--
"'How wonderful to be a revolutionist! Please tell me all about
revolutions. I never met a revolutionist before.'
"She said it, clinging trustfully to my arm, while we walked together on
the high, green hill of the Buttes Chaumont. All Paris was stretched
out below us like a map. The blue smoke floated upwards from the
chimneys in the autumn air. A misty haze obscured the view beyond the
ramparts, and the booming of the big guns of Mont Valerien was the only
sign of war; but from the streets ascended a confused hum of angry
voices--the noise which, in Paris, expresses the discontent which the
man of action can turn into a revolution almost by a gesture. In truth,
it was high time for another revolution, and here was Fifine pressing me
with her questions--
[Illustration: "We walked together on the high, green hill."]
"'Please tell me all about revolutions. Please tell me what a revolution
looks like.'
"Curious, is it not, that by such artless speeches women win men's
hearts? One wonders if they know it. I answered, half in jest, while
pondering a project in my mind--
"'A revolution, _amie cherie_? It is the simplest matter in the world.
You get up in the morning feeling discontented, and decide that the
Government must be overthrown. Other people are of the same opinion.
You leap upon a _cafe_ table and harangue them until you have stirred
them to the depths of their souls; then you say, "To the Hotel de
Ville!" Some of you march thither, while others go into the churches
and ring bells. The procession swells in volume; you call upon the
soldiers to fraternise with you; the constituted authorities disappear
through the back door. You write names on slips of paper and toss them
out of the window. This is the list of the new Government. It is all
over in the twinkling of an eye.'
"'How wonderful!' Fifine ejaculated, opening her eyes wide.
"A sudden idea came to me, and I acted upon it.
"'My angel!' I cried. 'I have told you what a revolution looks like.
Now come with me, and I will show you one.'
"She looked amazed; it may be that she had reason to. It was such a
chance as does not often come the way of the daughter of a _sergent de
ville_. But I appealed to her curiosity.
"'Listen!' I said. 'You hear that noise?'
"She nodded.
"'Well, sweetheart,' I continued, 'whenever I hear that noise in Paris,
I can turn it into a revolution in ten minutes.'
"'How wonderful!' she once more repeated.
"'Come and see,' I answered, and her curiosity prevailed over her years.
We ran down the hill together, and in a few minutes were in the stormy
streets of Paris.
"It was as I thought. The people of Paris were angry because the pinch
of hunger was making itself felt. They were gathering in little knots,
and someone was already haranguing them from a _cafe_ table; but he was
unworthy of the occasion, being drunk, so I pushed him down gently, amid
applause, and took his place.
"'Why do we talk,' I cried, 'when the hour for action has arrived? The
Government does nothing. Instead of driving away the Prussians, it
deliberates. It is in no hurry, because it possesses secret stores of
food; but we, in the meantime, what have we to eat?'
"'Rats! _En voila un_!' one of my audience shouted, tossing a choice
specimen across to me.
"I caught it dexterously and put it in my pocket. Then I went on--
"'You tolerate such a Government! You are willing that it should
continue to rule you--to betray you! No, no! A thousand times no. You
will sweep it away and govern Paris by yourselves. But there is no time
to lose. To the Hotel de Ville, my comrades! To the Hotel de Ville!'
"Tame words, you may think, as I recite them to you now, in times of
peace; but then they were burning words that caused men's blood to boil.
"'To the Hotel de Ville!' the Belleville workmen echoed, and the mob
became organic, and we marched.
"Imagine that march! Beginning as a small procession, it grew into a
mighty mob, with red flags flying and a brass band playing; and at the
head of it, Fifine and I walked, arm-in-arm. She was afraid, but she
was curious; her curiosity was stronger than her fears. Ah, she was a
true woman, was Fifine!
"'Oh! it is wonderful,' she kept repeating. 'I suppose it is wrong; but
it is wonderful, all the same.'
"And no one laughed to see her. For those were sentimental days, when
every revolutionist rejoiced to have a woman associated with him in his
enterprise. It was as though some master of the ceremonies had said--
"'Your partners, gentlemen! Take your partners for the Carmagnole.'
"So we swayed on, in ever-swelling numbers, until the Hotel de Ville was
reached. A crowd was already besieging its doors and swarming up its
stairs. It seemed, for the moment, as though I--I who had instigated
this revolution--should be unable to get access to the building. But I
called in a commanding tone--
"'Room there! Room for a lady! Room for Jean Antoine Stromboli
Kosnapulski!'
"They fell back, as far as it was possible, and cleared a space for me.
With Fifine still upon my arm, I jostled my way into the famous Hall of
the Mayors. It took time, but at last we got there. Let me try and
draw the picture for you.
"A large, long room, with portraits of celebrated citizens of Paris
hanging on its walls. At one end of the room a large semi-circular
table with the Mayors of Paris seated at it; the President in the midst
of them, pale and indignant. The rest of the room packed with a crowd
of revolutionists, women as well as men, all talking loudly at once, and
a few _sergents de ville_ among them, disarmed and overmastered, but
unable to escape. And, struggling against the tumult, the rumour
gradually spread itself from mouth to mouth--
"'The Breton Mobiles! They are coming to the rescue of the Mayors.'
One saw the point of that. At all events, I saw it, even if the others
did not. The Breton Mobiles understood no word of French--understood
nothing but their own uncouth Celtic tongue. It would be useless to
harangue them on the sacred right of insurrection and appeal to them to
fraternise with people. They would sweep on, with fixed bayonets,
driving the Parisians before them, blind, deaf, implacable as Destiny
itself. For once in my life I perceived failure in front of me, and I
felt that I owed Fifine an apology.
"'Dear angel,' I said to her, 'this is not so brilliant a revolution as
I could wish, but it shall have its dramatic climax, all the same.
Observe!'
"Then I continued to elbow my way to the front, exclaiming--
"'Room there! Room for a lady! Room for Jean Antoine Stromboli
Kosnapulski.'
"The crowd parted as before, and I found myself close to the table of
the Mayors, with the pale face of the President immediately in front of
me. I pulled the rat out of my pocket and tossed it to him, saying--
"'Thanks to your incapacity, the people of Paris are eating rats. In
the name of the Republic, I call upon you to eat a rat yourself.'
"The people who heard me cheered, but the Mayor of Paris tried to fling
the rat back into my face. I caught it in my right hand and tendered it
to him again with dignity.
"'Be reasonable,' I said. 'It is a present from Jean Antoine Stromboli
Kosnapulski. As those English say, you must put the gift-horse in your
mouth. In the name of the Republic, I call upon you to eat the rat
before us all, and to pretend that you enjoy it.'
"A tremendous cheer broke from the assembled revolutionists. They shook
their fists in his face and roared--
"'Let him eat the rat! Let him eat the rat!'
"He ate it, and we cheered him. Perhaps he was hungry, and needed it,
for, owing to the disturbances, he had been a long time without
refreshment; and though, to do him justice, he made little pretence of
appetite, one of the women--a good, thrifty soul--could not resist
exclaiming--
"'What a waste of a good rat! Why do you throw it away on him, when the
people of Paris are hungry?'
"That, however, was a question which, in spite of its importance, I had
no time to answer. At last the Mobiles were coming--the Breton Mobiles,
with whom it was impossible for the Revolutionists to fraternise,
because they did not know their language. There was no purpose to be
served by staying any longer, the more especially as I had a lady in my
charge.
"'Dear angel,' I whispered to Fifine, 'there is no more revolution to be
seen to-day. I will make haste and take you home.'
"It was more easily said than done, but I was not a man to be deterred
by obstacles. I shouted as before--
"'Room there! Room for a lady! Room for Jean Antoine Stromboli
Kosnapulski!'
"And room was made. I myself helped to make it, by pushing vigorously
with my strong arms. As the Bretons were entering by one door, Fifine
and I were issuing by another.
"It was all over--for the time. Many arrests were made; but, in the
confusion, Fifine and I escaped arrest, and it was not until the next
day that I knew that my behaviour had been remarked by any public
functionary. Then, however, I had a passage of arms with the Pere
Dubois.
"'Rascal!' he said. 'I saw you.'
"'How now? What do you mean, Pere Dubois?' I asked.
"'I was in the Hotel de Ville, disarmed and helpless. But I saw you,
and now I go to denounce you to the Government.'
"I looked him straight and fearlessly in the eyes.
"'Remember your pact with me, Pere Dubois,' I said.
"'My pact?' he repeated.
"'The pact we swore, like the Homeric heroes, that, even in a
revolution, we would spare each other. This time, as the revolution has
failed, it is I who am the gainer by it. Presently, when the revolution
is successful, it will be your turn to profit.'
"His eyes fell before my gaze as he replied--
"'If it were not for Fifine's sake, I would not do it.'
"To which I answered--
"'If it were not for Fifine's sake, I would not ask you.'
"'You think, then,' he continued scornfully, 'that the day will come
when it will be in your power to serve me?'
"'I am quite sure of it,' I answered, 'and when it comes, you may rely
upon me. Let us shake hands.'
"So we shook hands, and an armed truce was restored between us; and the
days rolled by, until the last great day came when I was called upon to
fulfil my obligations.
"Most of the events of those days belong to history. You know how the
Prussians at last starved Paris into surrender. You know how we
Communists seized the reins of Government in the month of March. You
know how Paris was besieged a second time, and how the barricades sprang
up, and how there were bloody battles in the streets. I have nothing
new to tell you of these things. I have only to tell you of the service
which I, at the last, rendered to the father of Fifine.
"Fifine herself had been sent to visit friends in the country.
Safe-conducts being hard to get, it had been necessary to lower her in a
basket over the ramparts after nightfall. I well remember my last talk
with her before, with no more luggage than she could carry on her arm,
she disappeared into the darkness.
"'Sweetheart,' she said, 'I thought that revolutions were wonderful, but
now I only find them terrible.'
"'Sweetheart,' I answered, quoting the proverb, 'how shall we make an
omelette without breaking eggs?'
"That was too deep for her. She did not even ask whether the omelette
was worth the broken eggs, but came to the point without either metaphor
or simile.
"'Dearest,' she pleaded, 'I saw you begin the revolution. Can't you
promise, for my sake, that you will stop it?'
"I shook my head sadly. It was hard for me, as you can judge, to
confess that she had asked me a thing which it was beyond my power to do
for her.
"'Dear angel,' I answered, 'the revolution is irresistible as the rising
tide. A man may have the power to start it, but no man has the power to
stay it.'
"'But my father!' she pleaded. 'Tell me! The revolutionists have no
love for the police?'
"I was obliged to own, however regretfully, that they had not. For what
have policemen ever done, that revolutionists should love them?
"'But, dear angel,' I added, 'one may make exceptions, if only for the
sake of proving rules. I wield influence, as you have seen, and I will
use it. They shall not hurt one hair upon the Pere Dubois's head.'
"Then we kissed each other and said good-bye. Fifine disappeared,
lowered over the ramparts by a sentinel; and it was only two days
afterwards that the Versailles soldiers entered Paris, and the fighting
in the streets began. I do not describe it to you. I do not boast.
One brave man behind a barricade, I take it, is very like another. The
tide of battle rolled us back from street to street. The traitors slunk
away and hid themselves. The day came when we were only a handful of
men, hemmed in by an army. Driven from my lodging in Montmartre, I
found a garret to sleep in in Belleville. I was there, snatching the
few hours' rest which I had earned, when a child found me, and thrust a
note, hastily scrawled in pencil, into my hand.
"It was from the Pere Dubois. How he had found the means of sending it
I do not know; but this is what he said--
"'I am a prisoner of the Commune, locked up with forty other _sergents
de ville_ at La Roquette. Your Communists are murdering their
prisoners. For the love of God remember your promise to me before it is
too late!'
"My mind was made up instantly. Until then I had supposed that a prison
was the safest place in Paris in which a _sergents de ville_ could find
himself; but since this was not so, I knew how to act.
"Springing from my truckle-bed, upon which I lay only half undressed, I
put on my frock-coat and my silk hat, and knotted my red sash round my
waist. Then I hurried down seven flights of stairs and almost ran into
the arms of our leader, Citizen Ferre.
"'Well, Ferre, how goes it now?' I asked him.
"'Badly,' he answered. 'It is all over with us. The Versaillais press
us hard. We have only just time to kill the prisoners.'
"At first I did not take him seriously.
"'Is that the way to raise the tone of revolutions?'
"He answered grimly--
"'Perfectly. We have dealt with the Archbishop; we have dealt with the
_gendarmes_. If we make haste, we shall just have time to deal with the
_sergents de ville_.'
"His brutal words horrified me, but I temporised. Time was precious,
and I would waste none of it in wrangling. If it had only been the life
of an ordinary hostage--an archbishop, for example--that was at stake, I
do not say; but the life at issue was the life of the father of Fifine.
Therefore, as I have said, I temporised.
"'You are right, Citizen Ferre,' I replied. 'We must indeed be quick.
Let us see which of us can be the quicker. I will race you to the
prison of La Roquette.'
"'Good,' he replied, and we both began to run with all our speed.
Picture us; for the picture must indeed have been a strange one. The
enemy surrounded us, and the crack of rifles and the screech of
_mitrailleuses_ sounded from the barricades on every side. The rival
batteries on the Buttes Chaumont and the Buttes Montmartre hurled their
shells all over Paris. Red flames and black clouds of smoke arose from
the Tuileries, from La Villette, from the Hotel de Ville, from blazing
buildings in every quarter of the city. Dead bodies of men and horses
lay here and there upon the pavements. Mattresses were piled up at the
windows to serve as a screen against the bullets. And, in the midst of
this, Citizen Ferre and I--he in his soldier's uniform, and I in my
frock-coat and silk hat--raced each other to the prison of La Roquette.
I was fleet of foot in those days, and I outstripped him. Dashing
through the open gate in the prison yard, I called--
"'Where are the prisoners of the Commune? Where are the _sergents de
ville_?'
"There was no need to ask the question. I could see the heads of several
of them at the windows of the cells. So I continued--
"'I have the order for them to be shot. Let me go up to them and I will
tell them to come down.'
"The words were saluted by a bloodthirsty cheer. It occurred to no one
to dispute my authority or ask a question. The key was handed to me and
I went up to the second storey and entered the door of the long corridor
in which their cells were situated.
"'Gentlemen,' I began. 'I am Jean Antoine----'
"Before I could say more, a dozen strong arms had gripped me and thrown
me on the ground, and my wrists were tied fast with a handcuff
improvised from a piece of string.
"'A hostage! We also have a hostage,' they cried in an exultant chorus.
"Then, just as I was fearing more rough usage, I heard the voice of Pere
Dubois.
"'Be gentle with him. He is a friend of mine. Hear what he has to
say.'
"So the policeman who was seated on my chest got up again, and I was
able to proceed--
"'Gentlemen,' I gasped. 'Citizen Ferre is on his way here to have you
shot. I raced him here that I might warn you. I am Jean Antoine
Stromboli Kosnapulski.'
"They looked inquiringly at me and at each other, and in the meantime
there came what looked suspiciously like proof that I was lying. Ferre
had, at last, arrived, and a fresh messenger came to the entrance of the
corridor; though, with greater caution than I had shown, he only spoke
through the keyhole.
"'The order has come that all the prisoners of the Commune are to be
released. Descend at once, and you can go free.'
"Some of them flashed a look of triumph on me, seeming to expect that I
would blush for shame. But I did not blush. I sprang up and stood with
my back to the door, and retorted hotly--
"'Idiots! Are you taken in, then, by a simple trick like that? It is a
lie to get you down into the courtyard, and shoot you the more easily.'
"This gave them pause.
"'There's reason in that,' they said. 'No doubt the hostage knows the
nature of the Communists. But what to do?'
"I was impatient.
"'What to do?' I shouted. 'Do you want a revolutionist to tell you what
to do? Barricade yourselves, idiots. Barricade yourselves, and stand
siege till the Versaillais come.'
"Their good sense prevailed; they jumped at the suggestion.
"'It is an idea; let us barricade ourselves. Untie the hostage's hands,
that he may help.'
"It was done, and I, who had shown the people how to build so many
barricades in the streets, now taught these forty-two policemen to build
a barricade in the corridor of the prison of La Roquette. We made it by
taking the mattresses from the beds in the cells, and laying them one
upon another carefully and symmetrically, as one builds a wall with
bricks. The barrier was so high that no one could climb over it; so
thick that no bullet could pass through it; so solid that it could only
be pulled down, piece by piece, by unmolested labourers; and scarcely
had we finished it before we found the need of it. We heard the voice
of Citizen Ferre himself, no longer promising safe-conduct or immunity.
"'Since you won't come out of it by yourselves, we'll have to fetch you
out. Charge, my lads, charge, and we'll treat them as we did the
_gendarmes_ in the Rue Haxo.'
"Hurling themselves against our woollen wall, they tried to push it
before them by sheer weight. It did not yield an inch. Was it not built
by a revolutionary leader? And were there not forty-two _sergents de
ville_ supporting it with their weight upon the other side?
"'Pull it down, bit by bit, from the top, then,' Ferre shouted; and we
heard a noise as of a man being hoisted on to another's shoulders, and,
for an instant, had a glimpse of a villainously ugly face between the
barrier and the ceiling.
"But only for an instant. Pere Dubois--he also hoisted on to a
neighbour's shoulders--hurled at the man a piece of crockery intended
for a very different purpose. It smote him full upon the jaw, knocking
teeth down his throat. Swearing a terrible oath, he disappeared, and no
one took his place. Carried away by the joy of battle, I shouted to the
Communist, who had so lately been my friend and ally--
"'Citizen Ferre! Is this the way you raise the tone of revolutions?'
"'Pig! We are not beaten yet,' my old friend answered; and, as we heard
him retreating down the staircase, we wondered what fresh devilry he had
in his mind.
"Presently we heard a fresh noise above our heads. Somebody was
breaking through the ceiling. Armed though we were, after a fashion,
with cudgels and lances, which we had made by breaking up the woodwork
of the beds, we knew that we could not hold out long against an assault
from that place of vantage. There seemed nothing to be done save to
sell our lives as dearly as we could. But, just as we had made up our
minds to this, we heard a voice that reassured us.
"'Hush! Do not be afraid! We are your fellow-prisoners.' And the head
which revealed itself through the broken planks--the head at which Pere
Dubois was preparing to hurl a fresh piece of crockery--proved to be the
head of one of the parish priests of Belleville, whom the Communists had
locked up as their hostages. The _sergents de ville_ greeted him with
shouts of welcome.
"'Listen!' said the good old man. 'We have barricaded ourselves, and
shall fight for our lives if need be. But, in the meantime, as your
lives also are in danger, we would strengthen you with our prayers and
with our blessing. Kneel, my brothers, kneel.'
"We knelt. It was a strange ceremony--such a ceremony as has never
been, perhaps, in the world, before or since. There was no confession.
The time was precious and too short for that. But, as we fell upon our
knees and bowed our heads, the holy man solemnly pronounced absolution
and chanted benediction. Even I--Jean Antoine Stromboli Kosnapulski, of
whom priests in a general way do not approve--took absolution and
benediction with the rest. Then the cry was raised--
"'Look out! They are returning!'
"We went to our post again, wondering what fresh device our enemies had
hit upon. It was not long before we knew. They had released the
convicts--the thieves and murderers who had been in prison long before
the Commune made special prisoners of its own--and had enlisted them as
willing allies against their natural enemies, the _sergents de ville_.
We heard them fraternising in the yard.
"'Long live the Communists!' cried the one.
"'Long live the convicts!' replied the others.
"And then, once more, we heard the brutal voice of Citizen Ferre--
"'Now, pigs! Your hour is come. Since you won't come out any other
way, we're going to burn you out.'
"In another instant they had poured petroleum over our mattress
barricade and set light to it. It burnt slowly, for wool, packed close,
is but a poor combustible, and there was no draught to coax the flames.
The whole corridor, however, was filled with a suffocating stench. We
coughed and choked, though we had burst every window open. It was only
a question of time. Our barricade must ultimately yield to this attack.
"'Water! Oh, for water!' was the cry that went up on every hand. We
had no water save the filthy stuff in which the prisoners had washed,
over and over again, since their cells had last been cleaned. So far as
we could, we soaked the mattresses with these slops. They added to the
stench, but hardly helped to quench the fire. With luck we might hold
out for half an hour. Longer we could not hope to hold.
"The _sergents de ville_ were losing heart and energy. They had thrown
themselves on the floor, because the smoke was less there, and lay about
the passage like so many dying men. And Pere Dubois whispered to me--
"'Oh, think of something! For Fifine's sake, think of something!'
"An inspiration came to me. I ran to the window, braving the risk of
rifle-bullets, and put my head out of it, and shouted with all my
might--
"'The Versaillais! The Versaillais! Hold out! Hold out! I see the
Versaillais coming!'
"The effect was marvellous. The _sergents de ville_ leapt to their feet
again. The convicts scurried down the staircase, tumbling over each
other in their haste. They streamed out into the courtyard and became a
frightened mob. Their terror was contagious, and every man sought to
save his skin. They peeped cautiously through every open door, and when
they saw the coast clear made a run for it. They fetched ladders out of
unexpected places and scaled the prison walls with them. Citizen Ferre
himself attempted to swarm up a water-pipe.
"And there were no Versaillais coming. I had invented them because I
saw that they were necessary to save the situation. They did not
actually come until more than two hours afterwards; though, in the
meantime, we saw nothing of my old friends, Citizen Ferre and his
companions.
"At last, however, the little men with the red trousers came marching
into the courtyard, and I said--
"'Let me go down and explain. The Colonel will be surprised to see me.'
"Well might he be surprised, even though he failed to recognise me. My
frock-coat was singed and torn; my silk hat was battered, and the nap on
it was ruffled; my face was as black as a negro's from the smoke. I
must, indeed, have looked a pitiable object as I issued from the door,
exclaiming--
"'Welcome, M. le Colonel. I am Jean Antoine----'
"A bullet splashed against the wall beside me, and I withdrew. Tearing
off my red sash, and borrowing a helmet and a tunic from one of the
_sergents de ville_, I reappeared and resumed my friendly greeting.
"'Welcome, M. le Colonel. Herewith I restore to you forty-two policemen
whom my old friend Ferre would have shot. I have raised the tone of
revolution. I am Jean Antoine Stromboli Kosnapulski.'
"I bowed profoundly, and this time no rifle-bullets interrupted my
discourse.
"The Colonel merely said--
"'Whoever you are, you'll remain under arrest while the truth of your
story is inquired into.'
"'That, M. le Colonel,' I said, 'is only reasonable. I am sorry that I
have no sword to surrender to you. My only weapon has been a piece of
crockery. If you wish that it should be formally handed to you, I will
go and fetch it.'
"He did not wish it, but proceeded to try me by drum-head court-martial
on the spot. With what result you can conjecture. A prisoner who has
forty-two policemen vying with each other to give evidence in his favour
has little to fear even from an improvised military tribunal.
"In consideration of my services to the police I was dismissed, within
two minutes, without a stain upon my character, and even thanked for
what I had done to raise the tone of revolution.
"To think that, after that, I should have lived to be chased by
policemen, as I was yesterday, through the kitchen and offices, out of
the back door! Fifine, my angel Fifine! what would you have said if you
had lived to hear of it?"