They turned at length into the Rue de Lille, a narrow, dirty street, rather deserted at the time, since most of the inhabitants were off at the Place de la Révolution, singing the "Marseillaise," shouting for Danton, or dancing the Carmagnole. At the door of the house numbered "670," stood a woman in a short cotton dress and wooden shoes. She was shading her eyes and looking far up the street, in the direction opposite to that from which the children were approaching. "There's Mère Clouet now!" whispered Jean. Suddenly the woman turned, caught sight of the pair, and made a dash at Jean who ducked, slid aside and came out unharmed quite behind the enraged laundress. But Mère Clouet was agile, and moreover well acquainted with Jean's system of manoeuvres! "Ah, you rascal!" she shouted, catching him deftly by the collar. "You _will_ run away for the whole day, and leave me to carry home the wash myself! You _will_ entrap my little Yvonne and force her to accompany you, scaring her good mother almost beyond her wits lest the child come to harm! To bed you go this night with never a bite or a sup, and lucky you'll be if there's a whole bone in your lazy, idle body!" With her great, muscular arms she shook Jean till his teeth clicked together, dropping him only when sheer exhaustion compelled her. Poor Yvonne stood by, trembling, wide-eyed and frightened. Citizeness Clouet having temporarily disposed of Jean, turned her attention to her daughter. "And as for thee, naughty little mouse!--" Then her eyes fell for the first time on the flowers. "But by all the saints, where did you get that magnificent bouquet, child? Never since I was a girl in Normandy have I seen such blossoms, except on the altars in the churches at Eastertide!" "Why, Mother, the dear little Citizen Dauphin gave them to me!" exclaimed Yvonne. Then she cast a frightened glance at Jean, remembering too late his warning on the way home. Jean himself trembled, and expected that Mère Clouet would break into a torrent of abuse and invective against the little prince. But to their astonishment she replied: "The poor little fellow! Well do I remember how his mother brought him to the great church of Notre Dame when he was but a tiny baby. You, Yvonne, were also but a few months old, and I carried you out with me to see the sight. The Queen in her carriage held him up that all the people might see him, and how the crowds sang and shouted for joy! Who would have thought that in seven years they would be keeping him a prisoner in his own palace and calling him names! These are marvellous times! But tell me how you came to see him. 'Tis quite a jaunt from here to the Tuileries." Encouraged by her mother's relenting mood, Yvonne told the story of their morning, described the Dauphin, the King and even Moufflet. Jean too forgot that he was in disgrace, and added his say to the tale at frequent intervals. Then Yvonne cast all caution to the winds.