"I am Gaspard Roussillon, and they shut me out, me! Ziff! me voici! je vais entrer immediatement, moi!" He attracted but little attention, however; the people and the soldiery were all too excited by the special interest of the occasion, and too busy with making a racket of their own, for any individual, even the great Roussillon, to gain their eyes or ears.

He in turn scarcely heard the tumult they made, so self-centered were his burning thoughts and feelings.

A great occasion in Vincennes and he, Gaspard Roussillon, not recognized as one of the large factors in it! Ah, no, never! And he strode along the wall of the stockade, turning the corners and heavily shambling over the inequalities till he reached the postern.

It was not fastened, some one having passed through just before him.
"Ziff!" he ejaculated, stepping into the area and shaking himself after the manner of a dusty mastiff.

"C'est moi! Gaspard Roussillon!" His massive under jaw was set like that of a vise, yet it quivered with rage, a rage which was more fiery condensation of self-approval than anger.
Outside the shouting, singing and huzzahs gathered strength and volume, until the sound became a hoarse roar.