Tholomyès, when started, would hardly have been checked, had not a horse fallen in the street at this very moment. Through the shock, cart and orator stopped short. It was a Beauce mare, old and lean and worthy of the knacker, dragging a very heavy cart. On getting in front of Bombarda's, the beast, exhausted and worn out, refused to go any further, and this incident produced a crowd. The carter, swearing and indignant, had scarce time to utter with the suitable energy the sacramental word, "Rascal!" backed up by a pitiless lash, ere the poor beast fell, never to rise again. Tholomyès' gay hearers turned their heads away on noticing the confusion, while he wound up his speech by the following sad strophe,-- "Elle était de ce monde où coucous et carrosses, Ont le même destin, Et, rosse, elle a vécu ce que vivent les rosses, L'espace d'un: Mâtin!" "Poor horse!" Fantine said with a sigh; and Dahlia shouted,-- "Why, here is Fantine beginning to feel pity for horses: how can she be such a fool!" At this moment, Favourite crossed her arms and threw her head back; she then looked boldly at Tholomyès, and said,-- "Well, how about the surprise?" "That is true, the hour has arrived," Tholomyès answered. "Gentlemen, it is time to surprise the ladies. Pray wait for us a moment." "It begins with a kiss," said Blacheve. "On the forehead," Tholomyès added. Each solemnly kissed the forehead of his mistress: then they proceeded to the door in Indian file, with a finger on their lip. Favourite clapped her hands as they went out. "It is amusing already," she said. "Do not be long," Fantine murmured, "we are waiting for you." CHAPTER IX. THE JOYOUS END OF JOY. The girls, when left alone, leaned out of the windows, two by two, talking, looking out, and wondering. They watched the young men leave the Bombarda cabaret arm in arm; they turned round, made laughing signs, and disappeared in that dusty Sunday mob which once a week invaded the Champs Élysées. "Do not be long," Fantine cried. "What will they bring us?" said Zéphine. "I am certain it will be pretty," said Dahlia. "For my part," Favourite added, "I hope it will be set in gold." They were soon distracted by the movement on the quay, which they could notice through the branches of the lofty trees, and which greatly amused them. It was the hour for the mail-carts and stages to start, and nearly all those bound for the South and West at that time passed through the Champs Élysées. Most of them followed the quay and went out by the Passy barrier. Every moment some heavy vehicle, painted yellow and black, heavily loaded and rendered shapeless by trunks and valises, dashed through the crowd with the sparks of a forge, the dust representing the smoke. This confusion amused the girls. "What a racket!" exclaimed Favourite; "one might say a pile of chairs was flying about."