I held out the dreadful missive to Blondeau.
“He is perfectly right. He says what is true!” exclaimed Blondeau, giving the letter back to me after having read it.
I left him without even saying good-bye, and ran to my schoolmates and partisans, who were gathered together, and anxious about the visit I had received.
“The revolution has broken out again,” I said, and I read to them my ex-friend Charles’s letter. I emphasised the ex, for I had already torn him from my heart.
I was in such a state of excitement that I felt as if I were intoxicated. My faithful friends, after a half-hour of unanimous expressions of indignation, thought as I did.
“I am of the opinion,” I said to them, “that we should do something. We cannot remain inert while they are massacring innocent people in Paris. I have hidden at the bottom of a little bag, in my linen-closet, a large handkerchief which my father gave me, in the centre of which is printed: ‘Long live the Democratic and Socialistic Republic!’ Find me a long stick in the wood-house, a ribbon or a string, and we will arrange a flag out of it, and will make a manifestation. Will you follow me?”
“We will!” they cried.
“If we could add a few recruits, some partisans, to our united groups, so that our manifestation would be more imposing, don’t you think it would be better?”
“We will all try to get some,” said my comrades.
We then dispersed. I soon returned with my large blue, white, and red handkerchief, and I fastened it to a long stick in such a manner that the words, “Long live the Democratic and Socialist Republic” should be plainly visible.