Denis had, in fact, suddenly assumed his brother Gaston’s sash.

What he had premeditated was about to be accomplished; the hour of the heroic falsehood had arrived.  He cried out,—­

“Soldiers, do you know what the man is who is speaking to you at this moment?  He is not only a citizen, he is a Legislator!  He is a Representative chosen by Universal Suffrage!  My name is Dussoubs, and I am a Representative of the People.  It is in the name of the National Assembly, it is in the name of the Sovereign Assembly, it is in the name of the People, and in the name of the Law, that I summon you to hear me.  Soldiers, you are the armed force.  Well, then, when the Law speaks, the armed force listens.”

This time the silence was not broken.

We reproduce these words almost literally; such as they are, and such as they have remained graven on the memory of those who heard them; but what we cannot reproduce, and what should be added to these words, in order to realize the effect, is the attitude, the accent, the thrill of emotion, the vibration of the words issuing from this noble breast, the intense impression produced by the terrible hour and place.

Denis Dussoubs continued:  “He spoke for some twenty minutes,” an eye-witness has told me.  Another has said, “He spoke with a loud voice; the whole street heard him.”  He was vehement, eloquent, earnest; a judge for Bonaparte, a friend for the soldiers.  He sought to rouse them by everything which could still vibrate in them; he recalled to them their true wars, their true victories, the national glory, the ancient military honor, the flag.  He told them that all this was about to be slain by the bullets from their guns.  He adjured them, he ordered them to join themselves to the People and to the Law; and then suddenly coming back to the first words which he had pronounced, carried away by that fraternity with which his soul overflowed, he interrupted himself in the middle of a half-completed sentence, and cried out:—­

“But to what purpose are all these words?  It is not all this that is wanted, it is a shake of the hand between brothers!  Soldiers, you are there opposite us, at a hundred paces from us, in a barricade, with the sword drawn, with guns pointed; you are aiming directly at me; well then, all of us who are here love you!  There is not one of us who would not give his life for one of you.  You are the peasants of the fields of France; we are the workmen of Paris.  What, then, is in question?  Simply to see each other, to speak to each other, and not to cut each other’s throats.  Shall we try this?  Say!  Ah! as for myself in this frightful battle-field of civil war, I would rather die than kill.  Look now, I am going to get off this barricade and come to you.  I am unarmed; I only know that you are my brothers.  I am confident, I am calm; and if one of you presents his bayonet at me, I will offer him my hand.”

He finished speaking.