With my heart ready for battle, I placed myself at the head of my battalion, crying: “Long live the Democratic-Socialist Republic! Long live the insurgents! ‘On n’part pas! on n’part pas!’”
A certain number of my schoolmates followed us; the others looked at us, terrified. The Mlles. André came running, and snatched my handkerchief-flag out of my hands. I defended it heroically. Several of my schoolmates supported me. But a troop commanded by my political enemy came up, crying: “Down with the Democratic-Socialist Republic!” and, lending aid to the Mlles. André and the under-governess, got the better of us. I received some well-directed blows, and I suffered at once from physical pain and from the humiliation of defeat. I was dragged to the drawing-room, held by both arms, and much jostled about. My valiant comrades followed me.
The Mlles. André sat down in their two largest arm-chairs to give me trial. Mlle. Sophie, the younger, questioned my partisans and allies.
“It was Juliette Lambert, was it not, who incited you to this act of scandalous folly?” she asked them.
Alas! out of twenty-two, seventeen answered:
“Yes, mademoiselle.”
The five others clung close to one another. Mlle. Sophie could drag nothing from them but one and the same answer:
“Both she and ourselves wished to make a manifestation!”
“Oh! yes, you are brave and faithful friends,” Mlle. Sophie replied, who did not really wish to punish any one but me. “It is a noble sentiment, for which I give you praise. Was it one of you—now, don’t lie—who furnished the handkerchief?”
“No, mademoiselle.”