To-night—ah, should I raise my eyes to-night
And see thee smiling there, Yvette, Yvette!
Beside thy sisters in the galleries!
Upon thy twilight hair the bonnet-rouge,
At thy small waist a pistol and a dirk—
Only the Revolution in thy soul
And in thy heart my name, my name, Yvette!
[Thunder.
It thunders now, but ‘twill be clear to-night.
The moon will shine, the roads will all be white.