“Never mind, grognard! we are early enough for the ball,” said M. Albert. “Have you everything ready as I desired?”
“All ready—spades, levers, pickaxes, and the rest.”
“Arms?”
“Enough to serve our purpose, and we shall soon have more. But who are these with you?”
“Fraternisers—two bold Englishmen, who are ready to die for freedom!”
“Vivent les Anglais, et à bas les tyrans!” shouted the blouses.
“This citizen,” continued Albert, indicating the unhappy Bagsby, “is a Cobdenist and a delegate. He has sworn to remain at the barricades until the last shot is fired, and to plant the red banner of the emancipated people upon its summit. His soul is thirsting for fraternity. Brothers! open to him your arms.”
Hereupon a regular scramble took place for the carcass of Mr Hutton Bagsby. Never surely was so much love lavished upon any human creature. Patriot after patriot bestowed on him the full-flavoured hug of fraternity, and he emerged from their grasp very much in the tattered condition of a scarecrow.
“Give the citizen delegate a blouse and a pickaxe,” quoth Albert, “and then for the barricade. You have your orders—execute them. Up with the pavement, down with the trees; fling over every omnibus and cab that comes in your way, and fight to the last drop of your blood for France and her freedom. Away!”