SCENE.--_A square fronting the Bureau of the chemin de fer for Chalons
and Metz. Time, Midi._
The Prince Imperial, en route for the seat of war, is seated upon a
milk-white steed. Beneath his left arm he convulsively carries a
struggling game-cock, with gigantic gaffs, while his right hand feebly
clutches a lance, the napping of whose pennant in his face appears to
give him great annoyance and suggests the services of a "Shoo-fly."
Around him throng the ladies of the Imperial bed-chamber and a cohort of
nurses, who cover his legs with kisses, and then dart furtively between
his horse's _jambes_ as if to escape the pressure of the crowd. Just
beyond these a throng of hucksters, market-women, butchers, bakers,
etc., vociferously urge him to accept their votive offerings of garden
truck, carrots, cabbages, parsnips, haunches of beef, baskets of French
rolls and the like, all of which the Prince proudly declines, whereupon
the vast concourse breaks forth into this wild chant to the air of