that I arose and went into the air I said in my soul, "There will be no need to spare him—now."
On the bastions where the red flag was set, through the smoke of guns, I used to stand hour after hour, and look across at the woods of Versailles, and think to myself.
"If only we might meet once more—only once more!"
For I was free now: his brethren fought against mine. It was the thought that nerved my arm for the Commune.
I think it was with many as with me; or something like it.
I remember in that ghastly time seeing a woman put the match to a piece whose gunner had just dropped dead. She fired with sure aim: her shot swept straight into a knot of horsemen on the Neuilly road, and emptied more than one saddle.
"You have a good sight," I said to her.
She smiled.
"This winter," she said slowly, "my children have all died for want of food—one by one, the youngest first. Ever since then I want to hurt something—always. Do you understand?"
I did understand: I do not know if you do. It is just these things that make revolutions.
