ing troops
of rats loose about his legs. Ah! the filthy beasts, he saw them always!
Though he kept crushing them, bringing his foot down with all his
strength, fresh hordes of them continued passing, until they quite
covered the roof. And there were spiders there too! He roughly pressed
his trousers against his thigh to squash some big spiders which had
crept up his leg. _Mon Dieu!_ he would never finish his day's work,
they wanted to destroy him, his employer would send him to prison. Then,
whilst making haste, he suddenly imagined he had a steam-engine in his
stomach; with his mouth wide open, he puffed out the smoke, a dense
smoke which filled the cell and found an outlet by the window; and,
bending forward, still puffing, he looked outside of the cloud of smoke
as it unrolled and ascended to the sky, where it hid the sun.

"Look!" cried he, "there's the band of the Chaussee Clignancourt,
disguised as bears with drums, putting on a show."

He remained crouching before the window, as though he had been watching
a procession in a street, from some rooftop.

"There's the cavalcade, lions and panthers making grimaces--there's
brats dressed up as dogs and cats--there's tall Clemence, with her wig
full of feathers. Ah! _Mon Dieu!_ she's turning head over heels; she's
showed everything--you'd better run, Duckie. Hey, the cops, leave her
alone!--just you leave her alone--don't shoot! Don't shoot--"

His voice rose, hoarse and terrified and he stooped down quickly, saying
that the police and the military were below, men who were aiming at him
with rifles. In the wall he saw the barrel of a pistol emerging, pointed
at his breast. They had dragged the girl away.

"Don't shoot! _Mon Dieu!_ Don't shoot!"

Then, the buildings were tumbling down, he imitated the cracking of a
whole neighborhood collapsing; and all disappeared, all flew off. But
he had no time to take breath, other pictures passed with extraordinary
rapidity. A furious desire to speak filled his mouth full of words which
he uttered without any connection, and with a gurgling sound in his
throat. He continued to raise his voice, louder and louder.

"Hallow, it's you? Good-day! No jokes! Don't make me nuzzle your hair."

And he passed his hand before his face, he blew to send the hairs away.
The house surgeon questioned him.

"Who is it you see?"

"My wife, of course!"

He was looking at the wall, with his back to Gervaise. The latter had a
rare fright, a