Since that time I had only seen him once, on the 26th August, 1819, on the day when I held the corner of Balzac’s pall.  The funeral possession was going to Pere la Chaise.  Auguste’s shop was on the way.  All the streets through which the procession passed were crowded.  Auguste was at his door with his young wife and two or three workmen.  As I passed he greeted me.

It was this remembrance which came back to my mind as I descended the lonely streets behind my house; in the presence of the 2d of December I thought of him.  I thought that he might give me information about the Faubourg St. Antoine, and help us in rousing the people.  This young man had at once given me the impression of a soldier and a leader.  I remembered the words which he had spoken to me, and I considered it might be useful to see him.  I began by going to find in the Rue St. Anastase the courageous woman who had hidden Auguste and his three companions, to whom she had several times since rendered assistance.  I begged her to accompany me.  She consented.

On the way I dined upon a cake of chocolate which Charamaule had given me.

The aspects of the boulevards, in coming down the Italiens towards the Marais, had impressed rue.  The shops were open everywhere as usual.  There was little military display.  In the wealthy quarters there was much agitation and concentration of troops; but on advancing towards the working-class neighborhoods solitude reigned paramount.  Before the Cafe Turc a regiment was drawn up.  A band of young men in blouses passed before the regiment singing the “Marseillaise.”  I answered them by crying out “To Arms!” The regiment did not stir.  The light shone upon the playbills on an adjacent wall; the theatres were open.  I looked at the trees as I passed.  They were playing Hernani at the Theatre des Italiens, with a new tenor named Guasco.

The Place de la Bastille was frequented, as usual, by goers and comers, the most peaceable folk in the world.  A few workmen grouped round the July Column, and, chatting in a low voice, were scarcely noticeable.  Through the windows of a wine shop could be seen two men who were disputing for and against the coup d’etat.  He who favored it wore a blouse, he who attacked it wore a cloth coat.  A few steps further on a juggler had placed between four candles his X-shaped table, and was displaying his conjuring tricks in the midst of a crowd, who were evidently thinking only of the juggler.  On looking towards the gloomy loneliness of the Quai Mazas several harnessed artillery batteries were dimly visible in the darkness.  Some lighted torches here and there showed up the black outline of the cannons.

I had some trouble in finding Auguste’s door in the Rue de la Roquette.  Nearly all the shops were shut, thus making the street very dark.  At length, through a glass shop-front I noticed a light which gleamed on a pewter counter.  Beyond the counter, through a partition also of glass and ornamented with white curtains, another light, and the shadows of two or three men at table could be vaguely distinguished.  This was the place.