Jean Frenchman and his sturdy wife are supposed to shrug at politics, but one twilight last week they swallowed their soupe a l'oignon early, then turned out at least 10,000 strong to wait in chattering throngs around the Chamber of Deputies.
A drizzling rain made no difference. The great night had come. In the Chamber there would be delirious hours of such oratory as Frenchmen love to wallow in. Sonorous snatches and smart mots would drift out to the magpie crowd. They parbleu, would not wait to...
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