This Robert was a husky young fellow who, to use his own words, was
"emancipated from boss tyranny," and was working independently in his
own home. A tiny, almost subterranean room was serving him for dwelling
and workshop. A woman he called "my affinity" was looking carefully
after his hearth and home, with a baby boy clinging to her skirts.
Desnoyers was accustomed to humor Robert's tirades against his fellow
citizens because the man had always humored his whimseys about the
incessant rearrangement of his furniture. In the luxurious apartment in
the avenue Victor Hugo the carpenter would sing La Internacional while
using hammer and saw, and his employer would overlook his audacity of
speech because of the cheapness of his work.

Upon arriving at the shop he found the man with cap over one ear, broad
trousers like a mameluke's, hobnailed boots and various pennants and
rosettes fastened to the lapels of his jacket.

"You've come too late, Boss," he said cheerily. "I am just going to
close the factory. The Proprietor has been mobilized, and in a few hours
will join his regiment."

And he pointed to a written paper posted on the door of his dwelling
like the printed cards on all establishments, signifying that employer
and employees had obeyed the order of mobilization.

It had never occurred to Desnoyers that his carpenter might become a
soldier, since he was so opposed to all kinds of authority. He hated
the flics, the Paris police, with whom he had, more than once, exchanged
fisticuffs and clubbings. Militarism was his special aversion. In the
meetings against the despotism of the barracks he had always been one
of the noisiest participants. And was this revolutionary fellow going to