Grandfather raged. He had thought that the overthrowing of the Orléans dynasty could be but to the sole advantage of Louis Napoleon. He fell upon the first triumphant Republican,—his son-in-law,—who came under his hands, and also upon his stupidly democratic Republic, and none of us could force him to beat a retreat. My father laughed, grandmother smiled, and I said:
“Ah! poor grandfather, with our Republic I am afraid your Bonaparte is in a bad way, however socialistic he may have pretended to be.”
I can remember that at the end of dinner on that 26th of February, grandfather, who, to console himself for his disappointment, had added a few bottles of his old Mâcon wine to his usual allowance, said to us, with eyes rounder than ever:
“Well, I can see as clear as daylight into the future.”
“Grandfather, it is eight o’clock in the evening.”
“I see your Republic—do you hear, Lambert? do you hear, Juliette?—thrown to the ground by my Bonaparte. I repeat it, so that you may hear: revolutions always end in empires.”
Grandmother, Blondeau, and especially my father and I, laughed heartily at him.
At school, how excited and curious and frightened they all were! Half the pupils were missing and were shut up at home, as it was thought the revolution might spread in the provinces. The workmen of the glass manufactory were all for the Republic. They would doubtless proclaim it at Chauny, make a revolution on their own account, and perhaps commit pillage.
Mademoiselle André and her younger sister sent for me as soon as I arrived at school. They had long known of my father’s opinions and guessed at mine. They wished to put themselves under our protection.
“Well, Juliette, how pleased your father must be at the news, as he has always been a republican. Have you seen him?”