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I continued,--
"Very well, I do not want to know your name as a general, I shall know
your number as a galley slave."
The man in the general's uniform hung his head, the others were silent.
I could read all their looks, however, although they did not raise their
eyes. I saw them cast down, and I felt that they were furious. I had an
overwhelming contempt for them, and I passed on.
What was the name of this general? I did not know then, and I do not
know now.
One of the apologies for the coup d'état in relating this incident,
and characterizing it as "an insensate and culpable provocation," states
that "the moderation shown by the military leaders on this occasion did
honor to General ----:" We leave to the author of this panegyric the
responsibility of that name and of this eulogium.
I entered the Rue de Faubourg St. Antoine.
My driver, who now knew my name, hesitated no longer, and whipped up his
horse. These Paris coachmen are a brave and intelligent race.
As I passed the first shops of the main street nine o'clock sounded from
the Church St. Paul.
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