“Here, Mademoiselle Turlurette, set fire to this sun. But aren’t you afraid?”
“Me, afraid! oh, no! just show me where to light it.”
“See, here is the match.”
Stout Turlurette took the slow-match which Jasmin handed to her, and held it to the wick which protruded from the sun. Despite all the courage which she was determined to display, the stout girl was terribly excited, for she had never set off a piece of fireworks before. After she had touched the match which she had in her hand to the place pointed out to her, when she heard the powder hiss and the flame sputter close beside her, a sudden terror took possession of Turlurette; fancying that she was being burned by the sparks from the sun, she ran across the courtyard, holding her dress up with one hand, as if she were trying to make a belt of it, and with her lighted slow-match still in the other. The latter she threw down, without looking, in the first convenient spot.
The sun produced a great effect; it whirled about like a top, and everybody at the windows applauded. Some said:
“It is as pretty as at Tivoli.”
Another exclaimed:
“It is almost as fine as the fireworks we have at our house, in my park, on my birthday.”
And the old marquis leaned far out of the window, crying:
“Bravo! I am much pleased, my children! You may regale yourselves again after the fireworks.”