an immense green flag.  Suddenly the crowd wavered and from it came a long cry of terror.  The police and the Republican carabineers issuing out of all the entrances of the palace formed themselves into a column beneath the wall and in a moment it was cleared of its besiegers.  After a long moment of suspense the noise of arms was heard, and the police charged the crowd with fixed bayonets.  An instant afterwards and on the deserted square strewn with hats and walking-sticks there reigned a sinister silence.  Twice again the Dracophils attempted to form, twice they were repulsed.  The rising was conquered.  But Prince des Boscenos, standing on the wall of the hostile palace, his flag in his hand, still repelled the attack of a whole brigade.  He knocked down all who approached him.  At last he, too, was thrown down, and fell on an iron spike, to which he remained hooked, still clasping the standard of the Draconides.

On the following day the Ministers of the Republic and the Members of Parliament determined to take energetic measures.  In vain, this time, did President Formose attempt to evade his responsibilities.  The government discussed the question of depriving Chatillon of his rank and dignities and of indicting him before the High Court as a conspirator, an enemy of the public good, a traitor, etc.

At this news the Emiral’s old companions in arms, who the very evening before had beset him with their adulations, made no effort to conceal their joy.  But Chatillon remained popular with the middle classes of Alca and one still heard the hymn of the liberator sounding in the streets, “It is Chatillon we want.”

The Ministers were embarrassed.  They intended to indict Chatillon before the High Court.  But they knew nothing; they remained in that total ignorance reserved for those who govern men.  They were incapable of advancing any grave charges against Chatillon.  They could supply the prosecution with nothing but the ridiculous lies of their spies.  Chatillon’s share in the plot and his relations with Prince Crucho remained the secret of the thirty thousand Dracophils.  The Ministers and the Deputies had suspicions and even certainties, but they had no proofs.  The Public Prosecutor said to the Minister of justice:  “Very little is needed for a political prosecution! but I have nothing at all and that is not enough.”  The affair made no progress.  The enemies of the Republic were triumphant.

On the eighteenth of September the news ran in Alca that Chatillon had taken flight.  Everywhere there was surprise and astonishment.  People doubted, for they could not understand.

This is what had happened:  One day as the brave Under-Emiral Vulcanmould happened, as if by chance, to go into the office of M. Barbotan, the Minister of Foreign Affairs, he remarked with his usual frankness: 

“M.  Barbotan, your colleagues do not seem to me to be up to much; it is evident that they have never commanded a ship.  That fool Chatillon gives them a deuced bad fit of the shivers.”