“No! no!  Let us name no one, let us not allow ourselves to be sorted,” exclaimed M. Gustave de Beaumont.

M. de Vatimesnil added, “We have come in here all together, we ought to go out all together.”

Nevertheless a few moments afterwards Antony Thouret was informed that a list of names was being secretly prepared, and that the Royalist Representatives were invited to sign it.  They attributed, doubtless wrongly, this unworthy resolution to the honorable M. de Falloux.

Antony Thouret spoke somewhat warmly in the centre of the group, which were muttering together in the dormitory.

“Gentlemen,” said he, “a list of names is being prepared.  This would be an unworthy action.  Yesterday at the Mairie of the Tenth Arrondissement you said to us, ‘There is no longer Left or Right; we are the Assembly.’  You believed in the victory of the People, and you sheltered yourself behind us Republicans.  Today you believe in the victory of the coup d’etat, and you would again become Royalists, to deliver us up, us Democrats!  Truly excellent.  Very well!  Pray do so.”

A universal shout arose.

“No!  No!  No more Right or Left!  All are the Assembly.  The same lot for all!”

The list which had been begun was seized and burnt.

“By decision of the Chamber,” said M. de Vatimesnil, smiling.  A Legitimist Representative added,—­

“Of the Chamber?  No, let us say of the Chambered.”

A few moments afterwards the Commissary of the fort appeared, and in polite phrases, which, however, savored somewhat of authority, invited each of the Representatives of the People to declare his name in order that each might be allotted to his ultimate destination.

A shout of indignation answered him.

“No one!  No one will give his name,” said General Oudinot.

Gustave de Beaumont added,—­

“We all bear the same name:  Representatives of the People.”

The Commissary saluted them and went away.

After two hours he came back.  He was accompanied this time by the Chief of the Ushers of the Assembly, a man named Duponceau, a species of arrogant fellow with a red face and white hair, who on grand days strutted at the foot of the Tribune with a silvered collar, a chain over his stomach, and a sword between his legs.

The Commissary said to Duponceau,—­“Do your duty.”

What the Commissary meant, and what Duponceau understood by this word duty, was that the Usher should denounce the Legislators.  Like the lackey who betrays his masters.

It was done in this manner.

This Duponceau dared to look in the faces of the Representatives by turn, and he named them one after the other to a policeman, who took notes of them.

The Sieur Duponceau was sharply castigated while holding this review.

“M.  Duponceau,” said M. Vatimesnil to him, “I always thought you an idiot, but I believed you to be an honest man.”