“A cock is crowing.”
“Well, what of it?”
“Don’t you hear what it says?”
“It is calling: ‘Victor Hugo!’”
We listened and laughed. Louis Blanc was right It did sound as if the cock were crowing my name.
I gave some of my bread-crumbs to the fowls. They would not eat them.
This morning a sortie against Montretout was made. Montretout was taken. This evening the Prussians captured it from us again.
January 20.—The attack on Montretout has interrupted the bombardment.
A child of fourteen years was suffocated in a crowd outside a baker’s shop.
January 21.—Louis Blanc came to see me. We held a council. The situation is becoming extreme and supreme. The Mairie of Paris asks my advice.