"'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 Ferré,' 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 Hôtel 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 Ferré 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—