Generally, the rogues throughout Paris, intimidated by the awful, immediate and certain penalty for crime, forsook, for the time, their calling. A man who attempted to fire the Palais Royal was shot at the PrÉfecture. Another, for a like attempt on buildings in the Rue Monceau, met a like fate. In the Rue Richelieu lay the bodies of two thieves, each with a ball through the breast, and over the aperture the word "Thief" on a label. In like manner were eight more robbers executed at once on the Place de la Madeleine. A woman of the street wrested a bracelet from a lady's wrist; she was instantly seized by the bystanders and shot. But for this summary punishment of malefactors by the people, dreadful that night would have been the state of Paris, without laws to enforce or a police to enforce them. It is true the ChÂteau of Neuilly was sacked and burned, as well as the splendid villa of the Baron Rothschild at Parennes; but both were supposed to be the property of the King. It is true, also, that some rails on the Northern Railway were torn up, and a viaduct between Paris and Amiens, and another between Amiens and the frontier of Belgium were demolished; and that the railway stations at St. Denis, Enghien and Pontoise and the bridge at AsniÈres had been destroyed; but all this was done to prevent the concentration upon the citizens of Paris of additional Royal troops.

A workman entered a house and demanded bread. Meat and wine were offered him. "No," was the reply, "bread and water are all I want."

Yet such was the scarcity of food that horses were killed and eaten at the HÔtel de Ville, on the third day of the Revolution.

"Arms—arms!" shouted a band of workmen, entering a house on the Rue Richelieu. The proprietor, alarmed, shouted for help. "Do you think us robbers?" was the indignant reply. "Give us your weapons!"

The weapons were given and the band retired; on the door they wrote, "Here we received arms!"

At five o'clock, on the evening of the 24th of February, a proclamation to the citizens of Paris, issued by the Provisional Government then in session at the HÔtel de Ville, declared the Revolution accomplished—that eighty thousand of the National Guard and one hundred thousand of the people were in arms—that order as well as liberty must now be secured, and the people, with the National Guard, were appointed guardians of Paris.

The effect of this proclamation was magical. Never was Paris so well protected as on that night of the 24th of February, when, filled with barricades, she had no police and was guarded by her citizens.

And how was constituted the Provisional Government whose power was thus implicitly obeyed? It was founded by the people who obeyed it. This was the only secret.

From the Chamber of Deputies to the HÔtel de Ville proceeded the members of the Provisional Government. They marched under a canopy of sabres, pikes and bayonets into halls stained with blood and encumbered with the slain, and there, at a small table, while the conflict between the two Republics had already commenced, within an hour had they organized their body by the nomination of Armand Marrast, of "Le National," Ferdinand Flocon, of "La RÉforme," Albert, a workman, and Louis Blanc, the editor and author, as Secretaries of the Government; their first official act was to issue a proclamation to the people.

The scenes witnessed the night which succeeded in Paris will never be forgotten by those who witnessed them. Patrols promenaded the streets, the men of the barricades slept upon their weapons, beside their works, and through all that night ceaselessly toiled the press to spread over all the world the news of the great events of the three past days in Paris.

Upon the door of an edifice situated in the Rue Jean Jacques Rousseau—a street which was filled with barricades of immense size and strength—was posted a printed placard, "The Provisional Government," lighted by a single lamp. Entering the door with a vast multitude, and ascending the dark and winding staircase, you found yourself in a large room, dimly lighted and crowded with armed men.

It was the editorial apartment of the office of "La RÉforme."

At a large and massive table sat a dozen persons most industriously employed in writing. Around them, looking on, rose the rough, stern faces of the men of the barricades, seeming still more rough and stern by reason of the shadowy light; in the hands of all were weapons.

"A copy of the names of the members of the Provisional Government!" was the incessant demand of these armed men, a demand which the dozen writers at the table were unable even by most indefatigable industry to supply as fast as made. And as fast as the demand was satisfied, the armed men would hurry away, only to leave room for the crowds constantly entering.

"A copy for the HÔtel de Ville!" cried one.

"A copy for the Place VendÔme!" shouted another.

"A copy for the Palais Bourbon!" screamed a third.

"Are there no printed copies left?" asked many.

"They were gone long ago—twenty thousand copies," was the reply. "You will see one at every corner. The demand was not expected. The printers have just gone to sleep. They had not rested for fifty-two hours."

"Will 'La RÉforme' appear in the morning?" asked another.

"Perhaps so," was the answer. "But all the people are worn out—writers and compositors. Here is your copy of the names."

"Many thanks. Vive la RÉpublique!"

With this shout, in concert with the same which constantly issued from a hundred lips, the citizen folded up his precious document, and carefully depositing it in his cap hurried off to communicate its contents to his comrades of the neighboring barricade.

In another apartment of that same edifice were a large number of the Republican party connected with "La RÉforme."

"The Provisional Government is now in session," said one. "They will, doubtless, make immediate provision for departments of State so important as the post-office and the prÉfecture of police. Early to-morrow a proclamation——"

"To-morrow may be too late," interrupted a large and muscular man. "The post-office is more active than ever to-night. Every moment couriers are arriving and departing. That powerful instrument remains in the hands of the foes of our cause! Who may estimate the injury, the irreparable injury which they may this night accomplish by its means!"

This man was Étienne Arago, brother of the great astronomer, and, for sixteen years, celebrated as one of the boldest members of the Republican party, as well as one of the bravest men in Paris.

"And the prÉfecture of police," observed another—"the present utter derangement of all its functions may lead to most serious results. Already those foes of freedom, Guizot and his colleagues, have been suffered to secure their escape from the just indignation of an outraged people. Delessert, the PrÉfect, has also fled!"

The man who said this was Marc CaussidiÈre, a well-known Republican.

"Citizens!" cried M. Gouache, "this state of things must continue no longer. In the name of the people, I demand that Étienne Arago immediately assume the charge of the post-office, as its director, and that Marc CaussidiÈre fill the position of PrÉfect."

This demand was confirmed by acclamation, and committees for the installation of the nominees into office at once accompanied them to their respective departments.

The immense edifice of the post-office was surrounded by people, and its numerous windows were flashing with lights. Within the utmost activity seemed to prevail, and without couriers were leaving and arriving every moment, and mail coaches were dashing up to discharge their burdens, or, having received them, were dashing off.

"In the name of the people, entrance for Citizen Étienne Arago, Republican director of the post-office!" shouted one of the committee.

Instantly a passage through the immense crowd in the courtyard was cleared by the National Guard, and the director entered with his escort.

"In the name of the people, Citizen Dejean, you are dismissed," said Étienne Arago, entering the private cabinet of the Director General.

"And who is to be my successor?" asked the astonished Count, rising to his feet.

"In the name of the people, I am sent to displace and to succeed you," was the answer.

"But your commission, Monsieur?"

"Is here," pointing to the committee.

"Before I resign the direction of this department," said the Count after some hesitation, "I must ask of you for some record of this act, bearing your signature, to be deposited in the archives of the office."

"Certainly, Monsieur, your request is but reasonable," answered Arago, seating himself in the official chair. And writing a few lines to which he affixed his signature, he coolly handed the document to his astonished predecessor. It contained notice of his own appointment by the people, in place of the Count Dejean, dismissed.

The Count read and folded the paper, and having made a copy of it, which he laid carefully in his porte-monnaie, he placed the original on file among the papers of the day belonging to the department. Then, courteously bowing, he took his hat and cane and marched out of the building.