"Room, room, for the wife of the General!" he cried.
Much they cared for the wife of the General! Great big boots trampled on my train, sharp spurs tore my laces, and the bones of the corsets of Mme. General hurt me terribly.
At midnight I returned to Mme. General's den. I returned in rags, shreds, soiled, dishonored, and stained with wine, tobacco, and mud. A hateful little maid brutally tore me from the shoulders of Mme. General, and said to her mistress:
"Well, madame, was it beautiful?"
"No, Victoria," replied Mme. General, "it was too mixed. But do hurry up! tear it off if it won't come. I know where to find others at the same price."
And I was thrown like a rag on a heap of pieces. The heap of pieces was composed of ball-dresses of the little baroness.
One morning, three or four days later, the aide-de-camp rushed in, crying, "The Versaillists! The Versaillists are in Paris!"
Thereupon Mme. General put on a sort of military costume, took two revolvers, filled them with cartridges, and hung them on a black leather belt which she wore around her waist. "Where is the General?" she said to the aide-de-camp.
"At the Tuileries."
"Very well, I shall go there with you." And on that she departed, with her little gray felt hat jauntily tilted over her ear.