On the morning of the fifth of September, in uniform, his
revolver on the table, the doctor gave consultation to an old
peasant couple. The husband had suffered with a varicose vein for
seven years, but had waited until his wife had one too, so that
they might go and hunt up a physician together, guided by the
postman when he should come with the newspaper.

Dr. Massarel opened the door, grew pale, straightened himself
abruptly and, raising his arms to heaven in a gesture of
exaltation, cried out with all his might, in the face of the
amazed rustics:

"Long live the Republic! Long live the Republic! Long live the
Republic!"

Then he dropped into his armchair weak with emotion.

When the peasant explained that this sickness commenced with a
feeling as if ants were running up and down in his legs, the
doctor exclaimed: "Hold your peace. I have spent too much time
with you stupid people. The Republic is proclaimed! The Emperor
is a prisoner! France is saved! Long live the Republic!" And,
running to the door, he bellowed: "Celeste! Quick! Celeste!"

The frightened maid hastened in. He stuttered, so rapidly did he
try to speak: "My boots, my saber --my cartridge box--and--the
Spanish dagger, which is on my night table. Hurry now!"

The obstinate peasant, taking advantage of the moment's silence,
began again: "This seemed like some cysts that hurt me when I