It was to all, to his friends as to his foes, the future that entered, an unknown future.

Amid the immense murmur, produced by the whispered words of all present, his name passed from mouth to mouth, coupled with most diverse opinions.

His antagonists detailed his adventures, his _coups-de-main_, Strasburg, Boulogne, the tame eagle, and the piece of meat in the little hat.

His friends dwelt upon his exile, his proscription, his imprisonment, an excellent work of his on the artillery, his writings at Ham, which were marked, to a certain degree, with the liberal, democratic, and socialistic spirit, the maturity of the more sober age at which he had now arrived; and to those who recalled his follies, they recalled his misfortunes.
General Cavaignac, who, not having been elected President, had just resigned his power into the hands of the Assembly, with that tranquil laconism which befits republics, was seated in his customary place at the head of the ministerial bench, on the left of the tribune, and observed in silence, with folded arms, this installation of the new man.
At length silence was restored, the President of the Assembly struck the table before him several times with his wooden knife, and then, the last murmurs having subsided, said: "I will now read the form of the oath." There was something almost religious about that moment.

The Assembly was no longer an Assembly, it was a temple.