Free eBooks at Planet eBook.com 1965
of the Enfants-Rouges.
He listened.
After panting for a few minutes, he turned in the direc-
tion where the fusillade was raging, lifted his left hand to
a level with his nose and thrust it forward three times, as
he slapped the back of his head with his right hand; an im-
perious gesture in which Parisian street-urchindom has
condensed French irony, and which is evidently efficacious,
since it has already lasted half a century.
This gayety was troubled by one bitter reflection.
‘Yes,’ said he, ‘I’m splitting with laughter, I’m twisting
with delight, I abound in joy, but I’m losing my way, I shall
have to take a roundabout way. If I only reach the barricade
in season!’
Thereupon he set out again on a run.
And as he ran:—
‘Ah, by the way, where was I?’ said he.
And he resumed his ditty, as he plunged rapidly through
the streets, and this is what died away in the gloom:—
“Mais il reste encore des bastilles,
Et je vais mettre le hola
Dans l’orde public que voila.
Ou vont les belles filles,
Lon la.‘Quelqu’un veut-il jouer aux quilles?
Tout l’ancien monde s’ecroula
Quand la grosse boule roula.