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on his shoulder, listened with intelligence, and spoke with a gentle and
grave voice. He had the melancholy air and the bitter smile of the
doomed.
On the evening of the Second of December I had asked him, "How old are
you?" He had answered me, "Not quite thirty-three years."
"
And you?" said he.
Forty-nine."
"
And he replied,--
"
To-day we are of the same age."
He thought in truth of that to-morrow which awaited us, and in which was
hidden that "perhaps" which is the great leveller.
The first shots had been fired, a Representative had fallen, and the
people did not rise! What bandage had they on their eyes, what weight
had they on their hearts? Alas! the gloom which Louis Bonaparte had
known how to cast over his crime, far from lifting, grew denser. For the
first time in the sixty years, that the Providential era of Revolutions
had been open, Paris, the city of intelligence, seemed not to
understand!
On leaving the barricade of the Rue Ste. Marguerite, De Flotte went to
the Faubourg St. Marceau, Madier de Montjau went to Belleville,
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