When all is said and done, old times are best;
He gave us back Lisette, he fed us all—
Eh! ‘twere a pity. What now? Who’s this?
Enter hurriedly The Marquise. She looks over her shoulder
as if fearing pursuit, then, drawing her cloak and hood
closely about her, attempts to cross the square unobserved.
Enter a rabble of men and women.
The Mob
Ah! ça ira, ça ira, ça ira!
Les Aristocrats à la Lanterne.