He has rescued law and order by a sort of genius.
The constraint which has weighed all day on our gestures and words explodes in delight.

Noisily we cast off that demeanor of conspirators which has bent our shoulders since morning.

The windows that were closed during the weighty hours of the insurrection are opened wide; the houses breathe again.
"We're saved from that gang!" people say, when they approach each other.
This feeling of deliverance pervades the most lowly.

On the step of the little blood-red restaurant I spy Monsieur Mielvaque, hopping for joy.

He is shivering, too, in his thin gray coat, cracked with wrinkles, that looks like wrapping paper; and one would say that his dwindled face had at long last caught the hue of the folios he desperately copies among his long days and his short nights, to pick up some sprigs of extra pay.