48 STORIES FROM DAUDET

Erect on the barricade, proud, con-
spicuous as an ensign, he fought with
leaps and cries under a hail of cannon-
shot. One moment the curtain of
smoke that rose from the ground
divided a little between two cannon-
ades and let him see the red trousers
massed in the Champs Elysées. Then
all was confusion again. He thought
he must have been mistaken, and
peppered away harder than ever.

Suddenly there was silence on the
barricade. The last artilleryman had
fired his last charge and fled. As for
the little Turco, he never budged ;
lurking in ambush ready to spring, he
fixed his bayonet firmly and waited
for the pointed helmets. It was the
French line that came on! Through
the dull thud of the advancing feet the
officers shouted, ‘Surrender !’

The Turco stood stupefied for a
second, then darted forward, flourish-
ing his musket aloft: ‘Bono, bono
Francese !’