is curious how one ends in only believing what one wants to believe.

* * * * * *

Something which had been plotting a long while among the Socialist
extremists suddenly produced a stoppage of work at the factory, and
this was followed by demonstrations which rolled through the terrified
town. Everywhere the shutters went up. The business people blotted
out their shops, and the town looked like a tragic Sunday.

"It's a revolution!" said Marie to me, turning pale, as Benoît cried to
us from the step of our porch the news that the workmen were marching.
"How does it come about that you knew nothing at the factory?"

An hour later we learned that a delegation composed of the most
dangerous ringleaders was preceding the army of demonstrators,
commissioned to extort outrageous advantages, with threats, from
Messrs. Gozlan.

Our quarter had a loose and dejected look. People went furtively,
seeking news, and doors half opened regretfully. Here and there groups
formed and lamented in undertones the public authority's lack of
foresight, the insufficient measures for preserving order.

Rumors were peddled about on the progress of the demonstration.

"They're crossing the river."

"They're at the Calvary cross-roads."