They had resumed walking; they still roamed about, found themselves
behind the Madeleine, and went up the Rue Tronchet. At last, as they
reached the Place du Havre, Sandoz exclaimed, 'So we are going to
Baudequin's, eh?'

The others looked as if they had dropped from the sky; in fact, it did
seem as if they were going to Baudequin's.

'What day of the week is it?' asked Claude. 'Thursday, eh? Then
Fagerolles and Gagniere are sure to be there. Let's go to
Baudequin's.'

And thereupon they went up the Rue d'Amsterdam. They had just crossed
Paris, one of their favourite rambles, but they took other routes at
times--from one end of the quays to the other; or from the Porte St.
Jacques to the Moulineaux, or else to Pere-la-Chaise, followed by a
roundabout return along the outer boulevards. They roamed the streets,
the open spaces, the crossways; they rambled on for whole days, as
long as their legs would carry them, as if intent on conquering one
district after another by hurling their revolutionary theories at the
house-fronts; and the pavement seemed to be their property--all the
pavement touched by their feet, all that old battleground whence arose
intoxicating fumes which made them forget their lassitude.

The Cafe Baudequin was situated on the Boulevard des Batignolles, at
the corner of the Rue Darcet. Without the least why or wherefore, it
had been selected by the band as their meeting-place, though Gagniere
alone lived in the neighbourhood. They met there regularly on Sunday
nights; and on Thursday afternoons, at about five o'clock, those who