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that calm and courageous smile which he wore in the Tribune, "Things are
looking badly for us, but well for the Republic. Martial law is
proclaimed; it will be carried out with ferocity, above all against us.
We are laid in wait for, followed, tracked, there is little probability
that we shall escape. To-day, to-morrow, perhaps in ten minutes, there
will be a 'miniature massacre' of Representatives. We shall be taken
here or elsewhere, shot down on the spot or killed with bayonet thrusts.
They will parade our corpses, and we must hope that that will at length
raise the people and overthrow Bonaparte. We are dead, but Bonaparte is
lost."
At eight o'clock, as Emile de Girardin had promised, we received from
the printing office of the Presse five hundred copies of the decree of
deposition and of outlawry endorsing the judgment of the High Court, and
with all our signatures attached. It was a placard twice as large as
one's hand, and printed on paper used for proofs. Noël Parfait brought us
the five hundred copies, still damp, between his waistcoat and his shirt.
Thirty Representatives divided the bills amongst them, and we sent them
on the Boulevards to distribute the Decree to the People.
The effect of this Decree falling in the midst of the crowd was
marvellous. Some cafés had remained open, people eagerly snatched the
bills, they pressed round the lighted shop windows, they crowded under
the street lamps. Some mounted on kerbstones or on tables, and read
aloud the Decree.--"That is it! Bravo!" cried the people. "The
signatures!" "The signatures!" they shouted. The signatures were read
out, and at each popular name the crowd applauded. Charamaule, merry and
indignant, wandered through the groups, distributing copies of the
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