the most beautiful being he had ever seen, yet who talked to him simply and unaffectedly as with an equal. The thing went to his head a little, and disturbed certain republican notions which he had hitherto conceived himself to have thoroughly digested.
The carriage drew up at the barrier, checked there by a picket of the National Guard posted before the iron gates.
The sergeant in command strode to the door of the vehicle. The Countess put her head from the window.
"The barrier is closed, madame," she was curtly informed.
"Closed!" she echoed. The thing was incredible. "But ... but do you mean that we cannot pass?"
"Not unless you have a permit, madame." The sergeant leaned nonchalantly on his pike. "The orders are that no one is to leave or enter without proper papers."
"Whose orders?"
"Orders of the Commune of Paris."
"But I must go into the country this evening." Madame's voice was almost petulant. "I am expected."
"In that case let madame procure a permit."
"Where is it to be procured?"
"At the Hôtel de Ville or at the headquarters of madame's section."
She considered a moment. "To the section, then. Be so good as to tell my coachman to drive to the Bondy Section."
He saluted her and stepped back. "Section Bondy, Rue des Morts," he bade the driver.
Madame sank into her seat again, in a state of agitation fully shared by mademoiselle. Rougane set himself to pacify and reassure them. The section would put the matter in order. They would most certainly be accorded a permit. What possible reason could there be for refusing them? A mere formality, after all!
His assurance uplifted them merely to prepare them for a still more profound dejection when presently they met with a flat refusal from the president of the section who received the Countess.
