M. Coste had been a captain in the Garde Mobile. At a bend in the street, which placed him out of reach of the balls, M. Conte noticed in front of him the drummer of the Garde Mobile, who, like him, had escaped by the Rue Saint Jean, and who was profiting by the loneliness of the street to get rid of his drum.
"Keep your drum," cried he to him.
"For what purpose?"
"To beat the call to arms."
"Where?"
"At Batignolles."
"I will keep it," said the drummer.
These two men came out from the jaws of death, and at once consented to re-enter them.
But how should they cross all Paris with this drum? The first patrol which met them would shoot them. A porter of an adjoining house, who noticed their predicament, gave them a packing-cloth. They enveloped the drum in it, and reached Batignolles by the lonely streets which skirt the walls.