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Updated: May 23, 2025
General hilarity, followed by murmurs of approval from various other females, which completely silenced Monsieur Leddin, who never reopened his mouth during the entire evening, so that one could not tell whether he was nursing his offended dignity or hiding his absolute incompetence to assume authority.
Hurry up, I say," calls a sharp nasal voice. That voice belonged to Monsieur Leddin, formerly a clock maker, but now of the Service Auxiliare, and on whom devolved the policing of our entire little group, simply because of his uniform. His observations, however, have but little effect.
The mothers returned to fetch their children. The old ladies and Monsieur Leddin were aroused. "C'est fini! Ah!" And in the courtyard one could hear them calling as they dispersed. "Good-night, Madame Cocard." "Good-night, Madame Bidon." "Don't forget." "I won't." "Till next time." "That's it, till next time." A young woman approached me.
Order!" cries another stentorian voice, belonging to Monsieur Vidalenc, the coal dealer. "Here! here!" echo several high pitched trebles. "Très bien, très bien. Follow in line what's the use of crowding?" Monsieur Leddin makes another and still shriller effort, calling from above: "Be calm now. Don't get excited." "Who's excited?" "You are!"
"Monsieur Leddin, you're about as fit to be a soldier as I to be an Archbishop," sneered the butcher's wife. "You'd do better to leave us alone and hold your peace."
Some of the women started towards the street. "We're only going as far as the door," said they by way of excuse. "You're really quite safe beneath the portico." And they carried their babies with them. So when the final signal of safety was sounded, there remained below but a few old women, a couple of very small children, and Monsieur Leddin, whom nothing seemed to disturb.
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