“Yes; but the Bacchanal Queen is six thousand feet above the level of any common leg-shaker.  I always come back to her step last night in the full-blown tulip.”

“It was huge!”

“It was serene!”

“If I were father of a family, I would entrust her with the education of my sons!”

“It was that step, however, which offended the bobby’s modesty.”

“The fact is, it was a little free.”

“Free as air—­so the policeman comes up to her, and says:  ’Well, my Queen, is your foot to keep on a-goin’ up forever?’ ‘No, modest warrior!’ replies the Queen; ’I practice the step only once every evening, to be able to dance it when I am old.  I made a vow of it, that you might become an inspector.’”

“What a comic card!”

“I don’t believe she will remain always with Sleepinbuff.”

“Because he has been a workman?”

“What nonsense! it would preciously become us, students and shop-boys, to give ourselves airs!  No; but I am astonished at the Queen’s fidelity.”

“Yes—­they’ve been a team for three or four good months.”

“She’s wild upon him, and he on her.”

“They must lead a gay life.”

“Sometimes I ask myself where the devil Sleepinbuff gets all the money he spends.  It appears that he pays all last night’s expenses, three coaches-and-four, and a breakfast this morning for twenty, at ten francs a-head.”

“They say he has come into some property.  That’s why Ninny Moulin, who has a good nose for eating and drinking, made acquaintance with him last night—­leaving out of the question that he may have some designs on the Bacchanal Queen.”

“He!  In a lot!  He’s rather too ugly.  The girls like to dance with him because he makes people laugh—­but that’s all.  Little Rose-Pompon, who is such a pretty creature, has taken him as a harmless chap-her-own, in the absence of her student.”

“The coaches! the coaches!” exclaimed the crowd, all with one voice.

Forced to stop in the midst of the maskers, Mother Bunch had not lost a word of this conversation, which was deeply painful to her, as it concerned her sister, whom she had not seen for a long time.  Not that the Bacchanal Queen had a bad heart; but the sight of the wretched poverty of Mother Bunch—­a poverty which she had herself shared, but which she had not had the strength of mind to bear any longer—­caused such bitter grief to the gay, thoughtless girl, that she would no more expose herself to it, after she had in vain tried to induce her sister to accept assistance, which the latter always refused, knowing that its source could not be honorable.

“The coaches! the coaches!” once more exclaimed the crowd, as they pressed forward with enthusiasm, so that Mother Bunch, carried on against her will, was thrust into the foremost rank of the people assembled to see the show.

It was, indeed, a curious sight.  A man on horseback, disguised as a postilion, his blue jacket embroidered with silver, and enormous tail from which the powder escaped in puffs, and a hat adorned with long ribbons, preceded the first carriage, cracking his whip, and crying with all his might:  “Make way for the Bacchanal Queen and her court!”