together in groups, forming an endless multitude from which came shouts
and songs. These manifestations were passing through the centre under
the electric lights that were just being turned on, the processions
generally lasting until midnight, with the national banner floating
above the walking crowds, escorted by the flags of other nations.

It was on one of these nights of sincere enthusiasm that the two friends
heard an unexpected, astonishing piece of news. "They have killed
Jaures!" The groups were repeating it from one to another with an
amazement which seemed to overpower their grief. "Jaures assassinated!
And what for?" The best popular element, which instinctively seeks an
explanation of every proceeding, remained in suspense, not knowing
which way to turn. The tribune dead, at the very moment that his word as
welder of the people was most needed! . . .

Argensola thought immediately of Tchernoff. "What will our neighbors
say?" . . . The quiet, orderly people of Paris were fearing a
revolution, and for a few moments Desnoyers believed that his cousin's
auguries were about to be fulfilled. This assassination, with its
retaliations, might be the signal for civil war. But the masses of the
people, worn out with grief at the death of their hero, were waiting in
tragic silence. All were seeing, beyond his dead body, the image of the
country.

By the following morning, the danger had vanished. The laboring classes
were talking of generals and war, showing each other their little
military memorandums, announcing the date of their departure as soon as
the order of mobilization should be published. "I go the second day." "I
the first." Those of the standing army who were on leave were recalled
individually to the barracks. All these events were tending in the same