would not even thank you for it, and leave you to die on the
flags in your old age. So all my fire was damped, and I said to myself:
'What's the use of doing more than I just need? If I gain heaps of gold
for M. Tripeaud, shall I get an atom of it?' Therefore, finding neither
pride nor profit in my work, I took a disgust for it--just did barely
enough to earn my wages--became an idler and a rake--and said to myself:
'When I get too tired of labor, I can always follow the example of Father
Arsene and his wife."'

Whilst Jacques resigned himself to the current of these bitter thoughts,
the other guests, incited by the expressive pantomime of Dumoulin and the
Bacchanal Queen, had tacitly agreed together; and, on a signal from the
Queen, who leaped upon the table, and threw down the bottles and glasses
with her foot, all rose and shouted, with the accompaniment of Ninny
Moulin's rattle "The storm blown Tulip! the quadrille of the Storm-blown
Tulip!"

At these joyous cries, which burst suddenly, like shell, Jacques started;
then gazing with astonishment at his guests, he drew his hand across his
brow, as if to chase away the painful ideas that oppressed him, and
exclaimed: "You are right. Forward the first couple! Let us be merry!"

In a moment, the table, lifted by vigorous arms, was removed to the
extremity of the banqueting-room; the spectators, mounted upon chairs,
benches, and window-ledges, began to sing in chorus the well-known air of
les Etudiants, so as to serve instead of orchestra, and accompany the
quadrille formed by Sleepinbuff, the Queen, Ninny Moulin, and Rose
Pompon.

Dumoulin, having entrusted his rattle to one of the guests, resumed his
extravagant Roman helmet and plume; he had taken off his great-coat at
the commencement of the feast, so that he now appeared in all the
splendor of his costume. His cuirass of bright scales ended in a tunic of
feathers, not unlike those worn by the savages, who form the oxen's
escort on Mardi Gras. Ninny Moulin had a huge paunch and thin legs, so
that the latter moved about at pleasure in the gaping mouths of his large
top boots.

Little Rose-Pompon, with her pinched-up cocked-hat stuck on one side, her
hands in the pockets of her trousers, her bust a little inclined forward,
and undulating from right to left, advanced to meet Ninny-Moulin; the
latter danced, or rather leaped towards her, his left leg bent under him,
his right leg stretched forward, with the toe rais