This was not the truth: the pistol was really loaded, but the lie probably prevented the Duc d'Orléans from being shot down on the steps of the Hôtel de Ville.
What reward did the man receive who saved the life of the future king of the French? I will tell you: he was killed at Saint-Mery and died cursing himself!
The Duc d'Orléans mounted the Hôtel de Ville steps with a firm tread; he passed close to Death, unwitting that Death, who so nearly touched him, had folded up his wings again. The gloomy vault of the old municipal palace, like the huge throat of a stone gargoyle, swallowed up the prince and his cortège. General La Fayette awaited him at the head of the staircase of the Hôtel de Ville. The situation was so great that men themselves appeared dwarfed. And, indeed, what did it mean: that the prince of the Younger Branch of the Bourbons was paying a visit to the hero of 1789? It meant that a democratic monarchy was to break off for ever from an aristocratic monarchy; it was the fulfilment of fifteen years of conspiracy; and the consecration of revolt by the pope of liberty.
We ought, perhaps, to stop here at this great moment, since all other details will seem paltry beside it.
The Duc d'Orléans, La Fayette and several of his friends formed the central point of interest of a vast crowd of men holding very different opinions. Some cheered, others protested. Four or five students from the École Polytechnique were there bareheaded, but with swords bare also. Some working men passed by, through the clearer spaces, shouting with sunburnt, lowering faces, some of them bloodstained, and they were gently pushed back so that the prince should not be offended by such a sight. It was, indeed, remorse that was being driven back, with the respect which is its due.
The matter in hand was the reading of the proclamation of the Chamber. M. Laffitte had spoken at such great length, as had everybody else, that he could not talk any longer. He held his proclamation in his hand, and goodness alone knows what effect a proclamation read in the grotesque tones of hoarseness would have produced!
"Give it me, give it me, my dear friend," shrieked M. Viennet, seizing the proclamation out of the hands of the famous banker, "I have a splendid voice!"
And it was, indeed, in superb tones that he read the proclamation of the Chamber. When the reader reached the words, "The Committee for judging delinquencies of the Press," the man who was to make the Laws of September, leant over to La Fayette and, shrugging his shoulders, asked—
"Will there be any more Press misdemeanours, now?"