"What's going on?"

Warden St. Maas's heart sank when he heard the prison resounding as if it were a chorus. Immediately got up from the couch and walked quickly in the direction of the door. His heart was uneasy, as if something bad was about to happen.

Standing in the hallway, the originally faint singing began to become clearer, and when he gradually heard the lyrics, his face became even paler.

Every lyric is like a tragic indictment, indicting the corruption of the exploiting class and the oppression of the capitalists, like a sharp sword that cuts through the curtain of painting, cuts through the false prosperity, and exposes the voices of the oppressed workers to the world!

Proletarians of the whole world, unite!

The slogans of the First Congress of the Communist League in 1847 were like the sword of Damocles hanging over the heads of the feudal monarchs, the big bourgeoisie! A reminder to the general public in Europe in the future.

All the social benefits that you will enjoy in the future are the ones that these pioneers have bought with their lives and blood!

Just when St. Mas was at a loss, the prison guard hurriedly ran in and said breathlessly, "Warden, it's not good. Those prisoners of the revolutionary party ......"

Saint-Mars's heart sank, his face trembled, and he asked angrily, "What's wrong?" Did this bunch of guys start a riot? Hurry up and let"

"No, it's more terrible than a riot."

The prison guard gestured a few times, but he couldn't explain clearly, so he could only let the warden go to the prison to take a look in person. St. Mas immediately ordered the prison guards to be fully armed and ready for a possible riot in the prison. He would never allow anything to threaten the Bonaparte regime in the central prison – if it did, he and the heads of the Revolutionary Party would be guillotined.

St. Mas hurried to the prison area, and by this time the chorus had reached a climax and white heat, and they confronted the prison guards outside the cold iron door, and their voices did not lower in the slightest.

"What's going on?"

St. Mas's pulled over the prison guards on duty and said through gritted teeth, "Let these pigs shut their mouths!" ”

"I'm sorry, Warden. We really can't do it. ”

The prison guard shook his head and said helplessly, "We tried to intimidate them, but these bastards are not afraid at all. As if obsessed, we didn't know when we started singing. ”

Saint-Mars squinted, the damned singing was the same as the forbidden Marseillaise, and he could still remember the chanting "Tremble!" Tyrants, traitorous plots, will be retributed after all! ”

This situation is like the end is coming.

He suddenly thought of someone, took the key from the guard, and hurried to the middle cell. The chorus is no accident, and it is more likely that someone else is inciting it behind it. The Second French Empire was far more oppressive in literature and art than in politics. After all, many dangerous elements were simply expelled from France, not beheaded.

The key was inserted into the doorway, and St. Mars took a deep breath and slowly opened the door.

At this time, Garion was standing directly across from him, looking at St. Mars who suddenly broke in, with an expected expression.

Originally, St. Mars would have thought that it was everything instigated by Desami, but looking at the guy lying on the bed, he dispelled this idea again.

He angrily asked, "What did you do?" ”

"We didn't do anything."

"I ask you what you're singing!"

Garion waved his hand and said, "I didn't say we weren't allowed to sing in prison, Baron Saint-Maas, but hearing your last name, I suddenly remembered the warden who was executed in the Bastille 70 years ago, wouldn't it be such a coincidence?" ”

The corners of Sainte's mouth twitched, and the scar of the hidden family history was inadvertently uncovered by the young man in front of him. He grabbed Garrian's collar and said angrily, "You'd better be cautious about what you say, or you may not survive the day of the court." ”

"Since you know my identity, you should know that there is a lot of noise outside, right?"

"If I were tortured in prison, could you imagine what would happen to the Bonaparte government, which had already been condemned by public opinion," Gallian asked rhetorically. I wonder you're going to be the trigger for the Paris uprising. ”

Saint-Mars was stunned, he had wondered why he was indifferent to the rebuke of the Bonaparte government in the face of public opinion. Now that I am savoring his words, I am afraid that there is a deeper entanglement behind it. He had even heard of the man's inextricable links to the republican liberal literati in Paris.

He just wants to run his prison well and doesn't want to get involved in other political events. If he offended the literati of Paris, Saint-Mars's reputation would be ruined.

"What do you want me to do?"

St. Mars finally had some scruples, and said, "As long as you can shut up, I will not blame you for anything else." ”

The rest of the prison looked at Garion in surprise, but he didn't expect that in just a few words, he would soften the attitude of the high-flying warden.

St. Mars glanced at De Sami who was lying on the bed again, turned his head to Garian and said, "I won't pursue the mistake he just made. People who won't live for a few days anyway, I don't care at all. ”

"But I care."

"There are countless revolutionary comrades who care, millions of oppressed working-class compatriots who care, and they care more about when the corpses of the capitalists will be shaken on the gallows. ”

"So what? How many times have you failed one after another, and when have you really established a government of socialists? ”

St. Mars said mockingly, "Even in the next century, it is still our great nobles who are in power, and Europe wants to have a socialist country, so dream of it!" ”

Listening to the other party's swearing, Garion replied with a smile, "Okay, then you wait." ”

St. Mars felt that his coercion was like a punch to cotton, and it didn't have any effect at all. By this time the singing had subsided, but St. Mas knew that something had become a faith in their hearts, and an immortal mark. It will not dissipate with the oppression of the powerful, but will become an increasingly fierce prairie fire.

"One last question."

The hated St. Mars asked, "You are not a revolutionary, so why do you want to help them?" ”

"Because the oppressed proletarians of the whole world will unite!"

Receiving this unexpected and reasonable answer, the warden finally nodded with a twisted expression and left the cell. The chorus looked like it was over, but St. Mas knew that a lot of things were just the beginning of the song.

"Hey, these rebels deserve to die."

St. Mars stood in the hallway, pulled out his pipe, and looked at the silent hallway behind him. Thinking back to the bargaining young literati, he couldn't help but feel a chill down his spine, and he touched the back of his head angrily, and added angrily.

"The one who writes the article is more damned than the chaotic party."