"Please, sir," Percy drawled with a grin, "La Marseillaise is so...droll. However I could not object to Ça Ira! It's the fashion in London, what! Why, the quaint little song of the Parisian mobs. What more could you ask for, Citizens? My French is terrible, do forgive me, I only know of it in mostly English. How does it goes now?"

He tapped his quizzing glass to his lips and then smiled when the thought struck him. "Ah, yes! Ah! ça ira, ça ira, ça ira! The people of this day neverendingly sing! Ah! ça ira, ça ira, ça ira! In spite of the traitors, all will succeed!" Percy then did a little dance, continuing on in purposefully mangled French, "Nos ennemis confus en restent là, et nous allons chanter Alleluya! Ah! ça ira, ça ira, ça ira!"

He grabbed Marguerite by the arms and swung her about, gaily singing away still. "Come now, m'dear! You taught this to me! Sing along!"