A crash, and the mighty timbers of the Porte Brulee yield in the centre.
Aided by the strong and exceedingly soiled hands of her new friends, our
elegant Mademoiselle is lifted, pulled, pushed, and tugged between the
vast iron bars which fortify the gate; and in this fashion, torn,
splashed, and dishevelled generally, she makes entrance into her city. The
guard, promptly adhering to the winning side, present arms to the heroine.
The people fill the air with their applauses; they place her in a large,
wooden chair, and bear her in triumph through the streets. "Everybody came
to kiss my hands, while I was dying with laughter to find myself in so odd
a situation."
Presently our volatile lady told them that she had learned how to walk,
and begged to be put down; then she waited for her countesses, who arrived
bespattered with mud. The drums beat before her, as she set forth again,
and the city government, yielding to the feminine conqueror, came to do
her homage. She carelessly assured them of her clemency. She "had no doubt
that they would soon have opened the gates, but she was naturally of a
very impatient disposition, and could not wait." Moreover, she kindly
suggested, neither party could now find fault with them; and as for the
future, she would save them all trouble, and govern the city herself,--
which she accordingly did.
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