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Updated: May 27, 2025
"There come the ants out of their holes!" cried Ciboule, stooping to pick up a stone. "We must have a fling at them for luck!" The stone, hurled by the steady, masculine hand of the virago, went straight to its mark, and struck an unfortunate woman who was trying to close one of the shutters. "Hit in the white!" cried the hideous creature.
Some resisted courageously; others, seeing Ciboule, followed by some of her horrible companions, and by several of the most ill-looking ruffians, hastily enter that part of the Common-Dwelling house in which the women had taken refuge, hurried in pursuit of this band; but some of the hag's companions, having faced about, and vigorously defended the entrance of the staircase against the workmen, Ciboule, with three or four like herself, and about the same number of no less ignoble men, rushed through the rooms, with the intention of robbing or destroying all that came in their way.
"Hardy's workmen say that kennels are good enough for such as you." said the little man with the ferret's face. "Yes, yes! they said so." "We'll break all their traps." "We'll pull down their bazaar." "We'll throw the house out of the windows." "When we have made the mealy-mouthed chits sing," cried Ciboule, "we will make them dance to the clatter of stones on their heads."
"Make way for the omnibus of the departed!" cried Ciboule. "No danger of having one's toes crushed in that omnibus," said the quarryman. "Doubtless they're easy to please, the stiff-uns in there." "They never want to be set down, at all events." "I say, there's only one reg'lar on duty as postilion!" "That's true, the leaders are driven by a man in a smock-frock." "Oh!
"Ha! ha! ha! it's rather gamey!" said the quarryman, alluding to the infectious and cadaverous odor which this funeral conveyance left behind it. "Here's sport!" exclaimed Ciboule: "the omnibus of the dead will run against the fine coach. Hurrah! the rich folks will smell death." Indeed, the wagon was now directly in front of the carriage, and at a very little distance from it.
We can rub his temples with the spirit, and make him inhale a little." "Pass the bottle," cried Ciboule; "but don't put your noses in it!" And, passed with caution from hand to hand, the flask reached Gabriel in safety. Whilst waiting for the coming of the coach, Father d'Aigrigny had been seated on a chair.
"Don't trouble yourself," said a powerful man, approaching the missionary respectfully; "I can carry him alone." "Shall I run and fetch a coach, Mr. Curate?" said a young vagabond, taking off his red cap. "Right," said the quarryman; "run away, my buck!" "But first, ask Mr. Curate if you are to go for a coach," said Ciboule, stopping the impatient messenger.
"Well done, Ciboule! you've rapped her coker-nut!" cried a voice. "Ciboule forever!" "Come out, you Devourers, if you dare!" "They have said a hundred times, that the neighbors were too cowardly even to come and look at their house," squealed the little man with the ferret's face. "And now they show the white feather!"
"What do we care about trespass?" cried the horrible hag, Ciboule; "in or out, I will tear the chits of the factory." "Yes, yes," cried other hideous creatures, as ragged as Ciboule herself; "we must not leave all to the men." "We must have our fun, too!" "The women of the factory say that all the women of the neighborhood are drunken drabs," cried the little man with the ferret's face.
"Good! we'll pay them for it." "The women shall have their share." "That's our business." "They like to sing in their Common House," cried Ciboule; "we will make them sing the wrong side of their mouths, in the key of 'Oh, dear me!" This pleasantry was received with shouts, hootings, and furious stamping of feet, to which the stentorian voice of the quarryman put a term by roaring: "Silence!"
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