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"VICTOR HUGO."
The man in the blouse took away the Proclamation saying, "You will see
it again to-morrow morning." He kept his word. I found it the nest day
placarded in the Rue Rambuteau, at the corner of the Rue de l'Homme-Armé
and the Chapelle-Saint-Denis. To those who were not in the secret of the
process it seemed to be written by hand in blue ink.
I thought of going home. When I reached the Rue de la Tour d'Auvergne,
opposite my door, it happened curiously and by some chance to be half
open. I pushed it, and entered. I crossed the courtyard, and went
upstairs without meeting any one.
My wife and my daughter were in the drawing-room round the fire with
Madame Paul Meurice. I entered noiselessly; they were conversing in a
low tone. They were talking of Pierre Dupont, the popular song-writer,
who had come to me to ask for arms. Isidore, who had been a soldier, had
some pistols by him, and had lent three to Pierre Dupont for the
conflict.
Suddenly these ladies turned their heads and saw me close to them. My
daughter screamed. "Oh, go away," cried my wife, throwing her arms round
my neck, "you are lost if you remain here a moment. You will be arrested
here!" Madame Paul Meurice added, "They are looking for you. The police
were here a quarter of an hour ago." I could not succeed in reassuring
them. They gave me a packet of letters offering me places of refuge for
the night, some of them signed with names unknown to me. After some
moments, seeing them more and more frightened, I went away. My wife said
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