Then, rejoining Mercédès, who was patiently awaiting him, they stepped into their carriage, as the drowsy tones of the watchman rose on the misty air, "Past four o'clock, and all is well!"
CHAPTER XVII.
THE REVOLUTION BEGINS.
Tuesday, the 22nd of February, the birthday of the immortal Washington and the first of the Three Days of the French Revolution of 1848, broke darkly and gloomily on Paris. The night had been tempestuous, and the wind still drove the sleet through the leafless trees of the Champs-Elysées and howled drearily along the cheerless boulevards.
The streets were dismal, desolate and deserted. Here and there, however, through the gray light of the winter dawn, could be caught the semblance of a figure closely muffled, whether for concealment, disguise, or protection from the biting blast was doubtful, stealing along; these figures often met and exchanged ominous signs of recognition.
"Is the procession still to take place?" asked one of another of these persons, pausing for an instant as they hurried along.
"Yes!" was the emphatic answer. "Dupont, Lamartine and the sixteen others who are faithful are resolute."
"And the rendezvous?"