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"Good day, citizeness."

"Good day, citizen."

This mode of address was now prescribed by decree. It had been

established voluntarily some time ago, among the more thorough

patriots; but, was now law for everybody.

"Walking here again, citizeness?"

"You see me, citizen!"

The wood-sawyer, who was a little man with a redundancy of

gesture (he had once been a mender of roads), cast a glance at

the prison, pointed at the prison, and putting his ten fingers

before his face to represent bars, peeped through them jocosely.

"But it's not my business," said he. And went on sawing his wood.

Next day he was looking out for her, and accosted her the moment

she appeared.

"What? Walking here again, citizeness?"

"Yes, citizen."

"Ah! A child too! Your mother, is it not, my little citizeness?"

"Do I say yes, mamma?" whispered little Lucie, drawing close to

her.

"Yes, dearest."

"Yes, citizen."