M. Bonardin.—Lord bless me!... Babet! Babet!...
Babet, (running in,)—What is it, sir?
M. Bonardin.—Don't you hear them? Cut a candle in eight pieces directly. Not a minute to lose!
The boys.—It's a Carlisse, (Carlist.) Hallo, there! lamps or candles!
M. Bonardin, (in his nightgown, opening the window.)—Directly, citizens, directly! A minute's patience!
The boys.—Ah! there's the old monkey himself! Bravo! bravo!
'D'un sang impur engraissons nos sillons!'
M. Bonardin, (flourishing his nightcap.)—Yes, yes, my friends, d'un sang impur!... Certainly, by all means; Vive la République!
The boys.—Vive la République! Down with the Carlisses! (Babet enters with candle-ends; M. Bonardin retreats behind his bed-curtains.) Ah! there's the monkey's wife lighting up at last. Bravo! bravo! Vive la République! The monkey's wife not bad-looking in her night-dress!
Babet, (shutting the window.)—Do you hear, sir, those ragamuffins call me your wife?