p, rejoicing, with many a shout,
in hopes of one of those verbal battles of slang and smutty talk which
made Vade so illustrious.

This mob--nearly all its members half seas over, soon swollen by the
many people who have to be up early to follow their crafts--suddenly
concentrated in one of the corners of the square, so that a pale,
deformed girl, who was going that way, was caught in the human tide.
This was Mother Bunch. Up with the lark, she was hurrying to receive
some work from her employer. Remembering how a mob had treated her when
she had been arrested in the streets only the day before, by mistake,
the poor work-girl's fears may be imagined when she was now surrounded
by the revellers against her will. But, spite of all her efforts--very
feeble, alas!--she could not stir a step, for the band of merry-makers,
newly arriving, had rushed in among the others, shoving some of them
aside, pushing far into the mass, and sweeping Mother Bunch--who was in
their way--clear over to the crowd around the public-house.

The new-comers were much finer rigged out than the others, for they
belonged to the gay, turbulent class which goes frequently to the
Chaumiere, the Prado, the Colisee, and other more or less rowdyish
haunts of waltzers, made up generally of students, shop-girls, and
counter skippers, clerks, unfortunates, etc., etc.

This set, while retorting to the chaff of the other party, seemed to be
very impatiently expecting some singularly desired person to put in her
appearance.

The following snatches of conversation, passing between clowns and
columbines, pantaloons and fairies, Turks and sultans, debardeurs and
debardeuses, paired off more or less properly, will give an idea of the
importance of the wished-for personage.

"They ordered the spread to be for seven in the morning, so their
carriages ought to have come up afore now."

"Werry like, but the Bacchanal Queen has got to lead off the last dance
in the Prado."

"I wish to thunder I'd 'a known that, and I'd 'a stayed there to see
her--my beloved Queen!"

"Gobinet; if you call her your beloved Queen again, I'll scratch you!
Here's a pinch for you, anyhow!"

"Ow, wow, Celeste! hands off! You are black-spotting the be-yutiful
white satin jacket my mamma gave me when I first came out as Don
Pasqually!"

"Why did you call the Bacchanal Queen your beloved, then? What am I, I'd
like to know?"

"You are my beloved, but not my Queen, for there is only o