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Jemmapes skirts the left bank of the St. Martin Canal; we went up it. We
only met a few solitary workmen, who looked back when we had passed, and
stopped behind us with an air of astonishment. The night was dark. A few
drops of rain were falling.
A little beyond the Rue de Chemin Vert we turned to the right and
reached the Rue Popincourt. There all was deserted, extinguished,
closed, and silent, as in the Faubourg St. Antoine. This street is of
great length. We walked for a long time; we passed by the barracks.
Cournet was no longer with us; he had remained behind to inform some of
his friends, and we were told to take defensive measures in case his
house was attacked. We looked for No. 82. The darkness was such that we
could not distinguish the numbers on the houses. At length, at the end
of the street, on the right, we saw a light; it was a grocer's shop, the
only one open throughout the street. One of us entered, and asked the
grocer, who was sitting behind his counter, to show us M. Cournet's
house. "Opposite," said the grocer, pointing to an old and low carriage
entrance which could be seen on the other side of the street, almost
facing his shop.
We knocked at this door. It was opened. Baudin entered first, tapped at
the window of the porter's lodge, and asked "Monsieur Cournet?"--An old
woman's voice answered, "Here."
The portress was in bed; all in the house sleeping. We went in.
Having entered, and the gate being shut behind us, we found ourselves in
a little square courtyard which formed the centre of a sort of a
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