The people danced around it singing patriotic songs.
From the threshold of their booth, which leant against the town-hall, a man called Rouquin and his wife were watching this group of madmen.
Rouquin clipped dogs and gelded cats; he also frequented the inns.

His wife was a ragpicker and a bawd, but she had plenty of shrewdness.
"You see, Rouquin," said she to her man, "they are committing a sacrilege.

They will repent of it." "You know nothing about it, wife," answered Rouquin; "they, have become philosophers, and when one is once a philosopher he is a philosopher for ever." "I tell you, Rouquin, that sooner or later they will regret what they are doing to-day.

They ill-treat the saints because they have not helped them enough, but for all that the quails won't fall ready cooked into their mouths.

They will soon find themselves as badly off as before, and when they have put out their tongues for enough they will become pious again.