“That’s so, you’re poor old one-legged Ranboeau’s brat. That was a bad deal your father got when the lumber fell. Let you through the gates, is it? What would you do on the other side?” he asked.
“Pick some flowers and come right back,” answered Vivi, hitching up the tray which was held about her neck by a leather strap.
The soldier in charge laughed and turned to another.
“She wants to pick some flowers on the other side of the gates. Well, go through and see how many you’ll find!” He held open the gate far enough for Vivi to step through, and they all laughed at her as she looked about curiously.
“It’s a great sight, isn’t it? No one was curious until they had to stay this side, but since the gates have been locked you’d think they thought the fields of paradise were just near by,” laughed Georges Fardou.
There were no flowers, only a long stretch of road, the vanishing bulk of a market cart in the distance, and the vivid spring sky above. Vivi looked about her and then, putting her tray down, began to dance and sing:
“Dansons la Carmagnole,
Vive le son du canon!”
The soldiers looked on, calling out approvingly:
“That’s good. She might be a sans-culotte herself! Give us the 'Ça Ira,’ too!”