CHAPTER XIII.

In proportion to the nearer roar of the besiegers' cannon, and the
sharper gripe of famine within the walls, the Parisians seemed to
increase their scorn for the skill of the enemy, and their faith in the
sanctity of the capital. All false news was believed as truth; all
truthful news abhorred as falsehood. Listen to the groups round the
cafes. "The Prussian funds have fallen three per cent. at Berlin," says
a threadbare ghost of the Bourse (he had been a clerk of Louvier's).
"Ay," cries a National Guard, "read extracts from La Liberte. The
barbarians are in despair. Nancy is threatened, Belfort is freed.
Bourbaki is invading Baden. Our fleets are pointing their cannon upon
Hamburg. Their country endangered, their retreat cut off, the sole hope
of Bismarck and his trembling legions is to find a refuge in Paris. The
increasing fury of the bombardment is a proof of their despair."

"In that case," whispered Savarin to De Breze, "suppose we send a flag of
truce to Versailles with a message from Trochu that, on disgorging their
conquests, ceding the left bank of the Rhine, and paying the expenses of
the war, Paris, ever magnanimous to the vanquished; will allow the
Prussians to retire."

"The Prussians! Retire!" cried Edgar Ferrier, catching the last word and
glancing fiercely at Savarin. "What Prussian spy have we among us? Not
one of the barbarians shall escape. We have but to dismiss the traitors
who have usurped the government, proclaim the Commune and the rights of
labour, and we give birth to a Hercules that even in its cradle can