are already there; clustering tumultuously round some National Patrol,
and a Baker who has been seized with short weights. They are there; and
have even lowered the rope of the Lanterne. So that the official persons
have to smuggle forth the short-weighing Baker by back doors, and even
send 'to all the Districts' for more force.

Grand it was, says Camille, to see so many Judiths, from eight to ten
thousand of them in all, rushing out to search into the root of the
matter! Not unfrightful it must have been; ludicro-terrific, and most
unmanageable. At such hour the overwatched Three Hundred are not yet
stirring: none but some Clerks, a company of National Guards; and M. de
Gouvion, the Major-general. Gouvion has fought in America for the cause
of civil Liberty; a man of no inconsiderable heart, but deficient in
head. He is, for the moment, in his back apartment; assuaging Usher
Maillard, the Bastille-serjeant, who has come, as too many do, with
'representations.' The assuagement is still incomplete when our Judiths
arrive.

The National Guards form on the outer stairs, with levelled bayonets;
the ten thousand Judiths press up, resistless; with obtestations, with
outspread hands,--merely to speak to the Mayor. The rear forces them;
nay, from male hands in the rear, stones already fly: the National
Guards must do one of two things; sweep the Place de Greve with cannon,
or else open to right and left. They open; the living deluge rushes in.
Through all rooms and cabinets, upwards to the topmost belfry: ravenous;
seeking arms, seeking Mayors, seeking justice;--while, again, the
better-cressed (dressed?) speak kindly to the Clerks; point out the
misery of these poor women; also their ailments, some even of an
interesting sort. (Deux Amis, iii. 141-166.)