in the bright sunshine which fell from the blue sky, along all the
balustrades connecting the seated statues of the cities of France, here,
there, and everywhere, indeed, you saw human heads. And the clamour was
universal. The great square had again become one of Revolution, and yet
it remained one of Concord also, for there was absolute agreement among
the hundred thousand or hundred and fifty thousand people who had chosen
it as their meeting-place, an agreement attested by that universal and
never-ceasing cry of "Dethronement!"

As the armed National Guards debouched from the Rue Royale, their solitary
drummer plied his sticks. But the roll of the drum was scarcely heard in
the general uproar, and so dense was the crowd that the men could advance
but very slowly. For a while it took some minutes to make only a few
steps. Meantime the ranks of the men were broken here and there, other
people got among them, and at last my father and myself were caught in the
stream and carried with it, still somewhat slowly, in the direction of the
Pont de la Concorde. I read recently that the bridge was defended by
mounted men of the Garde de Paris (the forerunner of the Garde
Republicaine of to-day); a French writer, in recalling the scene,
referring to "the men's helmets glistening in the sunshine." But that is
pure imagination. The bridge was defended by a cordon of police ranged in
front of a large body of Gendarmerie mobile, wearing the familiar dark
blue white-braided _kepis_ and the dark blue tunics with white
aiguillettes. At first, as I have already said, we advanced but slowly
towards that defending force; but, all at once, we were swept onward by
other men who had come from the Boulevards, in our wake. A minute later an
abrupt halt ensued, whereupon it was only with great difficulty that we
were able to resist the pressure from behind.

I at last contrived to raise myself on tiptoes. Our first ranks had