as I set him free, and told him my name, he also wept. He said to me,

When I think that an hour ago I knew that you were facing us, and that I

wished that the barrel of my gun had eyes to see and kill you!" He added,

In the times in which we live we do not know what may happen. If ever

you need me, for whatever purpose, come." His name was Auguste, and he

was a wine-seller in the Rue de la Roquette.

Since that time I had only seen him once, on the 26th August, 1819, on

the day when I held the corner of Balzac's pall. The funeral possession

was going to Père la Chaise. Auguste's shop was on the way. All the

streets through which the procession passed were crowded. Auguste was at

his door with his young wife and two or three workmen. As I passed he

greeted me.

It was this remembrance which came back to my mind as I descended the

lonely streets behind my house; in the presence of the 2d of December I

thought of him. I thought that he might give me information about the

Faubourg St. Antoine, and help us in rousing the people. This young man

had at once given me the impression of a soldier and a leader. I

remembered the words which he had spoken to me, and I considered it might

be useful to see him. I began by going to find in the Rue St. Anastase

the courageous woman who had hidden Auguste and his three companions, to

whom she had several times since rendered assistance. I begged her to

accompany me. She consented.

On the way I dined upon a cake of chocolate which Charamaule had given

me.

180

The History of a Crime