"It was applauded by the small number who could hear it. Some cried out, in their simplicity, 'That's the program of Lafayette! Long live Lafayette!' But at that moment a singular procession arrived at the City Hall. It was headed by a coach in which sat Monsieur Lafitte, whose bad leg prevented him from walking. Then came the Duke of Orleans, on horseback, attended by Generals Gerard, Sebastiani, and others, and followed by the committee of the deputies who had named him Lieutenant-General of the kingdom. The prince was pale and uneasy, although he affected to smile at the throngs of combatants, who still carried their arms. Their attitude, their words, became more and more threatening. Some guns were even leveled at this man who, after the combat, came to usurp the sovereignty of the people. But a feeling of humanity soon raised them again, and a few minutes later the Duke appeared on the balcony of the City Hall with Lafayette. The latter embraced the Duke, and presented him to the people, with the words:
"'Here, my friends, is the best of Republics—'
"Such was the result for which the people of Paris had fought for three days! It is for this that we risked our lives, that you shed your blood, my son—and that our old friends Castillon and Duchemin died valiantly, as did so many other patriots."
"Great heaven! Father, what say you! Castillon—Duchemin—both dead!"
In agony at his unfortunate words, Lebrenn turned to his wife: "Our son did not know, then, the fate of our friends?"
"Poor old Castillon—I loved him so," sobbed Marik, while his tears poured upon the pillow. "Brave Duchemin—how did he meet his end?"
"In spite of his age," said General Oliver, who had so far been a silent spectator of the scene, "he did not leave my side the whole day of the 27th. His patriotic fervor seemed to double his strength. That night he went home with me. At daybreak of the 28th we rejoined, in Prouvaires Street, the citizens who were defending the barricades there. The colonel who commanded the attack, despairing of ever capturing the barricade, attempted to demolish it with his cannon. A piece was brought up, and at the first round a bullet rebounded and tore into Duchemin's thigh. He fell, crying 'Long live the Republic!' Then he forced a smile on his lips, and with his last breath said to me, 'I die like an old republican cannonier. Long live the Commune!'"
Just then a servant entered, and said to Lebrenn, "Sir, one of the workingmen who was here four days ago is come to ask news of Marik."
"Let him come in," replied the young man's father.
It was the artisan who, on the 27th, had acted as spokesman for his comrades of St. Denis Street. His head was wrapped in a bloody bandage; he was also wounded in the leg, and supported himself as with a cane, with the scabbard of a cavalry saber.