whose appetites are sated display in public as if in
scorn of pleasure and wealth, they insolently exhibited themselves, she
very proud to drive the queen's lover, and he without the slightest
shame beside that creature who flicked her whip at men in passage-ways,
safe on her lofty perch from the salutary drag-nets of the police.
Perhaps he found it necessary to quicken his royal mistress's pulses by
thus parading under her windows with Suzanne Bloch, _alias_ Suze la
Rousse.

"Hi! hi there!"

The horse, a tall trotter with slender legs, a genuine cocotte's horse,
was returning from his digression, toward the middle of the street, with
dancing steps, prancing gracefully up and down without going forward.
Jansoulet dropped his satchel, and as if he had cast aside at the same
time all his gravity, his prestige as a public man, he gave a mighty
leap and grasped the animal's bit, holding him fast with his strong
hairy hands.

An arrest on Rue Royale and in broad daylight; no one but that Tartar
would have dared do such a thing!

"Get down," he said to Moessard, whose face turned green and yellow in
spots when he recognized him. "Get down at once."

"Will you let go my horse, you fat beast!--Lash him, Suzanne, it's the
Nabob."

She tried to gather up the reins, but the animal, held in a powerful
grasp, reared so suddenly that in another second the fragile vehicle
would have shot out all that it contained, like a sling. Thereupon,
carried away by one of the furious fits of rage peculiar to the
faubourg, which in such girls as she scale off the varnish of their
luxury and their false skin, she struck the Nabob two blows with her
whip, which glided off the hard, tanned face, but gave it a ferocious
expression, accentuated by the short nose, slit at the end like a
hunting terrier's, which had turned white.

"Get down, or, by God, I will overturn the whole thing!"

In a confused mass of carriages, standing still because movement was
impossible or slowly skirting the obstacle, with thousands of curious
eyes, amid the shouts of drivers and clashing of bits, two iron wrists
shook the whole phaeton.

"Jump down--jump, I say--don't you see he's going to tip us over? What a
grip!"

And the girl gazed at the Hercules with interest.

Moessard had hardly put his foot to the ground, when, before he could
take refuge on the sidewalk, where black _kepis_ were hastening to the
scene, Jansoulet threw himself upon him, lifted him