“If the French people allow themselves to be bullied by such bavards as these, it’s no business of mine. They don’t deserve to be free.”
He was on the Boulevard des Italiens as he made this reflection, heading on for the widening way of the Rue de la Paix. He had already noticed a change in the aspect of the promenaders.
Troops were passing along the pavement; and taking station at the corners of the streets. Detachments occupied the casernes and cafés, not in serious, soldier-like sobriety, but calling imperiously for refreshments, and drinking without thought or pretence of payment. The bar-keeper refusing them was threatened with a blow, or the thrust of a sabre!
The promenaders on the pave were rudely accosted. Some of them pushed aside by half-intoxicated squads, that passed them on the double-quick, as if bent on some exigent duty.
Seeing this, some parties had taken to the side streets to regain their houses. Others, supposing it only a soldierly freak—the return from a Presidential review—were disposed to take it in good part; and thinking the thing would soon be over, still stayed upon the Boulevard.
Maynard was among those who remained.
Interrupted by the passing of a company of Zouaves, he had taken stand upon the steps of a house, near the embouchure of the Rue de Vivienne. With a soldier’s eye he was scrutinising these military vagabonds, supposed to be of Arab race, but whom he knew to be the scourings of the Parisian streets, disguised under the turbans of the Mohammed. He did not think in after years such types of military would be imitated in the land he had left behind, with such pride in its chivalry.
He saw that they were already half-intoxicated, staggering after their leader in careless file, little regarding the commands called back to them. Out of the ranks they were dropping off in twos and threes, entering the cafés, or accosting whatever citizen chanced to challenge their attention.
In the doorway where Maynard had drawn up, a young girl had also taken refuge. She was a pretty creature and somewhat elegantly dressed; withal of modest appearance. She may have been “grisette” or “cocotte.” It mattered not to Maynard, who had not been regarding her.
But her fair proportions had caught the eye of one of the passing Zouaves; who, parting from the ranks of his comrades, rushed up the steps and insisted upon kissing her!