“A dead man,” they exclaimed.

In truth the soldier had just expired.

“Infamous Bonaparte!” said Tissie.  “Poor red breeches!  All the same, I have got a gun.”

They emptied the soldier’s pouch and knapsack.  They divided the cartridges.  There were 150 of them.  There were also two gold pieces of ten francs, two days’ pay since the 2d of December.  These were thrown on the ground, no one would take them.

They distributed the cartridges with shouts of “Long live the Republic!”

Meanwhile the attacking party had placed a mortar in position by the side of the cannon.

The distribution of the cartridges was hardly ended when the infantry appeared, and charged upon the barricade with the bayonet.  This second assault, as had been foreseen, was violent and desperate.  It was repulsed.  Twice the soldiers returned to the charge, and twice they fell back, leaving the street strewn with dead.  In the interval between the assaults, a shell had pierced and dismantled the barricade, and the cannon began to fire grape-shot.

The situation was hopeless; the cartridges were exhausted.  Some began to throw down their guns and go away.  The only means of escape was by the Rue Saint Sauveur, and to reach the corner of the Rue Saint Sauveur it was necessary to get over the lower part of the barricade, which left nearly the whole of the fugitives unprotected.  There was a perfect rain of musketry and grape-shot.  Three or four were killed there, one, like Baudin, by a ball in his eye.  The leader of the barricade suddenly noticed that he was alone with Pierre Tissie, and a boy of fourteen years old, the same who had rolled so many stones for the barricade.  A third attack was pending, and the soldiers began to advance by the side of the houses.

“Let us go,” said the leader of the barricade.

“I shall remain,” said Pierre Tissie.

“And I also,” said the boy.

And the boy added,—­

“I have neither father nor mother.  As well this as anything else.”

The leader fired his last shot, and retired like the others over the lower part of the barricade.  A volley knocked off his hat.  He stooped down and picked it up again.  The soldiers were not more than twenty-five paces distant.

He shouted to the two who remained,—­

“Come along!”

“No,” said Pierre Tissie.

“No,” said the boy.

A few moments afterwards the soldiers scaled the barricade already half in ruins.

Pierre Tissie and the boy were killed with bayonet thrusts.

Some twenty muskets were abandoned in this barricade.

[19] It must not be forgotten that this has been written in exile, and that to name a hero was to condemn him to exile.

CHAPTER XII.

THE BARRICADE OF THE MAIRIE OF THE FIFTH ARRONDISSEMENT