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piled up there. "What is all this for?" asked the crowd.
Dr. Deville, who had attended Espinasse when he had been wounded,
noticed him on the boulevard, and asked him, "Up to what point are you
going?"
Espinasse's answer is historical.
He replied, "To the end."
At two o'clock five brigades, those of Cotte, Bourgon, Canrobert, Dulac,
and Reybell, five batteries of artillery, 16,400 men,[23] infantry and
cavalry, lancers, cuirassiers, grenadiers, gunners, were echelloned
without any ostensible reason between the Rue de la Paix and the Faubourg
Poissonnière. Pieces of cannon were pointed at the entrance of every
street; there were eleven in position on the Boulevard Poissonnière alone.
The foot soldiers had their guns to their shoulders, the officers their
swords drawn. What did all this mean? It was a curious sight, well worth
the trouble of seeing, and on both sides of the pavements, on all the
thresholds of the shops, from all the stories of the houses, an
astonished, ironical, and confiding crowd looked on.
Little by little, nevertheless, this confidence diminished, and irony
gave place to astonishment; astonishment changed to stupor. Those who
have passed through that extraordinary minute will not forget it. It
was evident that there was something underlying all this. But what?
Profound obscurity. Can one imagine Paris in a cellar? People felt as
though they were beneath a low ceiling. They seemed to be walled up in
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