MEET ME ON THE BARRICADES

ing, arguing, laughing. The crisis is over. The crowd is emboldened.

Behind him Simpson hears people talking, ques- tioning each other.

“Who can she be?”

“You don’t mean to tell me [incredulously] that you don’t know?”

“She is the friend of Simpson, the American sym- pathizer.”

“N o ! ”

“Yes!”

A cynic: “Did you say ‘friend’?”

A snicker, a whisper, then:

“Well, not really, if you must know; but after all this is revolution, citizen.”

A shout drowns out the dialogue. Women surge forward, approach the soldiers. They beg, smile, en- treat, with the infantrymen.

“Come, comrades, put down your bayonets. Join us. We are all Russians. Liberty, equality, fraternity! N o taxation without representation! Land, peace and bread! Don’t shoot!”

The troops are abashed; they shuflle uneasily, look away, blush as the women become more for- ward. Here and there a bayonet is lowered. Sheep- ishly at first and then with open enthusiasm the

4.0