The officer who was in command, a captain named Petit, did not allow him to finish.

“Gentlemen,” he said, “I have my orders.  I belong to the People.  I am a Republican as you are, but I am only an instrument.”

“You know the Constitution?” said Schoelcher.

“I only know my instructions.”

“There is an instruction above all other instructions,” continued Schoelcher, “obligatory upon the Soldier as upon the Citizen—­the Law.”

He turned again towards the soldiers to harangue them, but the captain cried out to him,—­

“Not another word!  You shall not go on!  If you add one word, I shall give the order to fire.”

“What does that matter to us?” said Schoelcher.

At this moment an officer arrived on horseback.  It was the major of the regiment.  He whispered for a moment to the captain.

“Gentlemen!  Representatives!” continued the captain, waving his sword, “withdraw, or I shall fire.”

“Fire!” shouted De Flotte.

The Representatives—­strange and heroic copy of Fontenoy—­took off their hats, and faced the muskets.

Schoelcher alone kept his hat on his head, and waited with his arms crossed.

“Fix bayonets,” said the captain.  And turning towards the squads, “Charge!”

“Vive la Republique!” cried out the Representatives.

The bayonets were lowered, the companies moved forward, the soldiers came on at the double upon the motionless Representatives.

It was a terrible and superb moment.

The seven Representatives saw the bayonets at their breasts without a word, without a gesture, without one step backwards.  But the hesitation which was not in their soul was in the heart of the soldiers.

The soldiers felt distinctly that this was a double stain upon their uniform—­the outrage upon the Representatives of the People—­which was treason, and the slaughter of unarmed men, which was cowardice.  Now treason and cowardice are two epaulets to which a general sometimes becomes reconciled, the soldier—­never.

When the bayonets were so close to the Representatives that they touched their breasts, they turned aside of their own accord, and the soldier’s by an unanimous movement passed between the Representatives without doing them any harm.  Schoelcher alone had his coat pierced in two places, and in his opinion this was awkwardness instead of intention.  One of the soldiers who faced him wished to push him away from the captain, and touched him with his bayonet.  The point encountered the book of the addresses of the Representatives, which Schoelcher had in his pocket, and only pierced his clothing.

A soldier said to De Flotte, “Citizen, we do not wish to hurt you.”

Nevertheless a soldier came up to Bruckner and pointed his gun at him.

“Well,” said Bruckner, “fire.”

The soldier, touched, lowered his arm, and shook Bruckner’s hand.