Monsieur Gilet is adored by all the people, who--look at them!--want to take justice into their own hands.

Ah! didn't we see them, in 1830, dusting the jackets of the tax-gatherers?
whose life isn't a bed of roses, anyway!" Joseph Bridau grew pale as death, and collected all his strength to walk onward.
"After all," he said, "I am innocent.

Go on!" Poor artist! he was forced to bear his cross.

Amid the hooting and insults and threats from the mob, he made the dreadful transit from the place Misere to the place Saint-Jean.

The gendarmes were obliged to draw their sabres on the furious mob, which pelted them with stones.