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CHAPTER IX
A MERRY END TO MIRTH
When the young girls were left alone, they leaned two by
two on the window-sills, chatting, craning out their heads,
and talking from one window to the other.
They saw the young men emerge from the Cafe Bom-
barda arm in arm. The latter turned round, made signs to
them, smiled, and disappeared in that dusty Sunday throng
which makes a weekly invasion into the Champs-Elysees.
‘Don’t be long!’ cried Fantine.
‘What are they going to bring us?’ said Zephine.
‘It will certainly be something pretty,’ said Dahlia.
‘For my part,’ said Favourite, ‘I want it to be of gold.’
Their attention was soon distracted by the movements
on the shore of the lake, which they could see through the
branches of the large trees, and which diverted them great-
ly.
It was the hour for the departure of the mail-coaches
and diligences. Nearly all the stage-coaches for the south
and west passed through the Champs-Elysees. The major-
ity followed the quay and went through the Passy Barrier.
From moment to moment, some huge vehicle, painted yel-