Free eBooks at Planet eBook.com 1843
‘A B C, that is to say: the burial of Lamarque.’
‘The tall blonde,’ remarked Grantaire, ‘is Enjolras, who is
sending you a warning.’
‘Shall we go?’ ejaculated Bossuet.
‘It’s raiding,’ said Joly. ‘I have sworn to go through fire,
but not through water. I don’t wand to ged a gold.’
‘I shall stay here,’ said Grantaire. ‘I prefer a breakfast to
a hearse.’
‘Conclusion: we remain,’ said Laigle. ‘Well, then, let us
drink. Besides, we might miss the funeral without missing
the riot.’
‘Ah! the riot, I am with you!’ cried Joly.
Laigle rubbed his hands.
‘Now we’re going to touch up the revolution of 1830. As a
matter of fact, it does hurt the people along the seams.’
‘I don’t think much of your revolution,’ said Grantaire. ‘I
don’t execrate this Government. It is the crown tempered by
the cotton night-cap. It is a sceptre ending in an umbrella.
In fact, I think that to-day, with the present weather, Lou-
is Philippe might utilize his royalty in two directions, he
might extend the tip of the sceptre end against the people,
and open the umbrella end against heaven.’
The room was dark, large clouds had just finished the ex-
tinction of daylight. There was no one in the wine-shop, or
in the street, every one having gone off ‘to watch events.’
‘Is it mid-day or midnight?’ cried Bossuet. ‘You can’t see
your hand before your face. Gibelotte, fetch a light.’
Grantaire was drinking in a melancholy way.
‘Enjolras disdains me,’ he muttered. ‘Enjolras said: ‘Joly is