"There are two of us."
"Is that all?"
"That is all."
They were in truth two,—two men who alone during that night, in that solitary street, behind that heap of paving-stones, awaited the onslaught of a regiment.
Both wore blouses; they were two workmen; with a few cartridges in their pockets, and a musket upon each of their shoulders.
"So then," resumed the last-maker, in an impatient tone, "our friends have not yet come!"
"Well, then," I said to him, "let us wait for them."
The last-maker spoke for a short time in a low tone, and probably told my name to one of the two defenders of the barricade, who came up to me and saluted me. "Citizen Representative," said he, "it will be very warm here shortly."
"In the meantime," answered I laughingly, "it is cold."
It was very cold, in truth. The street which was completely unpaved behind the barricade, was nothing better than a sewer, ankle deep in water.