"Oh! no, Monsieur Ménard; Frédéric hasn't been killed or eaten. There's no question here of a resemblance to Philomela weeping for her children; what we have to do is to find out where the young man has gone. Ah! look yonder—there's an animal who could give us some information about him, I fancy."

On leaving the village, they had gone down into the valley, and were now on the outskirts of the forest, where Frédéric's horse was wandering at will along the paths leading into the valley.

"That's his horse," said Ménard. "I know him by that white spot; I've seen him in the innyard; it's Frédéric's horse. And he's alone, without a rider. An additional proof, monsieur le baron, that the young man has fallen a victim to his imprudence. The horse undoubtedly threw him; my pupil is dead; he probably tried to climb one of these mountains; it was dark and he couldn't see the road at his feet. All is lost!"

"I believe, on the contrary, that Frédéric is in these woods, and that he left his horse here so that he could go where he chose. Let us adopt the same method in looking for him; but let's be more prudent than he, and tie our horses to one of these firs."

They dismounted, and entered the woods, Ménard still holding his handkerchief to his eyes, because he believed that Frédéric was dead or wounded, and Dubourg marching ahead and peering intently in every direction. Ere long he came quickly back to the tutor, with a triumphant air, and said, pointing to a grassy mound:

"Look! see if my presentiments misled me? there's the marvel of nature that Frédéric comes here to admire."

"You were right, monsieur le baron," said Ménard, after a moment of speechless surprise; "that isn't the Chartreuse! it is more modern."

"That looks to me to be a lovely girl."

"And to me also, monsieur le baron."

"That sly dog of a Frédéric! It was decidedly clever of him to find such a pretty face in this desert. Do you still think that he shuns the ladies, Monsieur Ménard?"

"It doesn't look like it at this moment."

"Pshaw! Monsieur Ménard, Frédéric, although rather sentimental, is made like other men; but we must go and offer him our respects."

"That will disturb him, monsieur le baron."

"Parbleu! as he passes all his days here, he has time enough to make love."

Dubourg and Ménard walked toward the lovers; at the sound of their footsteps, Frédéric turned and saw them. The girl raised her eyes, and, at sight of the two strangers, pressed closer to Frédéric; and hiding her face against her lover's breast, seemed from that vantage-ground to defy all dangers.

"Bravo! my dear Frédéric, bravo!" laughed Dubourg. "I understand now why you get up so early. Upon my word, your conquest is a charming creature, and that little shy manner adds to the piquancy of her features."

The dumb girl, after a swift glance at Dubourg, turned her eyes again toward Frédéric, as if to ask him what it all meant.

"You won't go away with them?"

He embraced her again, whereupon she became calmer, and at last went away, not without turning her head many times to look fondly at Frédéric and sadly at the strangers.

"Very pretty, very pretty, on my word!" said Dubourg, looking after her.

"If her speech resembles her plumage," murmured Ménard, between his teeth, "she is the phœnix of the denizens of this forest."

"Why have you come here, messieurs?" demanded Frédéric, angrily.

"Why have we come? parbleu! to look for you, who desert us and leave us penniless at an inn, to come to make love here in the woods with a peasant girl, who is very pretty, I agree, but who ought not to make you forget your friend and your venerable tutor."

Frédéric made no reply, but seemed to be absorbed in thought.

"My dear Monsieur Ménard," said Frédéric, emerging at last from his reverie, but making no reply to his tutor's harangue, "I have something of great importance to say to monsieur le baron; I cannot say it before anyone else, so oblige me by taking a turn up the valley; we will join you very soon."

"I cannot refuse you anything, monsieur le comte; I await your coming, with confidence."—And Ménard left the woods, saying to himself: "My sermon has had a good effect; the young man realizes his wrong-doing; he will mend his ways and return to us like the prodigal son, with a white staff in one hand and his horse's rein in the other."

Ménard was no sooner out of sight, than Frédéric walked quickly to Dubourg's side.

"Why did you bring our mentor here? why have you tracked me to this forest? am I no longer the master of my actions?"

"In the first place, the mentor is not a very alarming person; secondly, we were bound to find out what had become of you, as we heard nothing from you; and, lastly, could I believe that, for an amourette, you would become an Orlando Furioso?"

"Nonsense! but you are excited, and I see that it will be hard for me to make you listen to reason. This girl seemed to me to be very pretty, indeed, and I agree that she's a phœnix; but, after all, what do you propose to do? surely you don't intend to pass your life in these woods?"

"I don't intend to leave Sister Anne."

"Very good; then bring your Sister Anne along; let her come with us; make a baroness of her, if you choose, for the benefit of poor Ménard; I'll undertake to arrange it all; but leave these old fir-trees, under which you'll turn into an orang-outang in time."

"That isn't possible. In yonder cabin there is an excellent old woman, who has taken care of her ever since she was a child; she can't desert her."

"The deuce! so you have a whole family on your hands!"

"Go, Dubourg; return to Grenoble with Ménard; I will join you there in a few days, but I cannot leave her now."

"Return to Grenoble, eh? Do you imagine that I enjoy myself there, with your tutor, when I can't show my face anywhere?"

"Oh! I forgot. Take this wallet; it contains our fortune; take it, and do what you please with it. I have a few louis, that's all I need."

"Ah! she's no ordinary woman. If you knew—poor child! But, no, I won't tell you anything; you can't understand my heart. Adieu, Dubourg!"

"You insist upon it? All right, I'll take the cash-box, and leave you. I know what men are, I have had more experience than you have: within a fortnight, you'll have had enough of this kind of life, and you'll come back to us."

"Yes, if Sister Anne will come with me."

"You will come without her, I am perfectly sure. Au revoir! make love at your ease; make it all day and all night; in short, make so much of it, that a fortnight hence you'll have had more than enough."

And Dubourg, having put the wallet in his pocket, hastened down into the valley, where he found Ménard sitting quietly by their horses.

"To horse!" he exclaimed joyfully; "make haste!"

"What's that? to horse? But I don't see monsieur le comte."

"Because he has stayed with his Dulcinea."

"He stays, and we go?"

"To be sure; for, having no passions in the forest, we might be bored here."

"But, monsieur le baron, I don't understand this at all."

"Faith! monsieur le baron, I begin to think that you are right."

"To horse, then, Monsieur Ménard, and vive la gaieté! To-morrow, I will take you to dine with our friend Chambertin."

"Really, monsieur le baron?"

"And I promise you that we'll make an entry into the village that will cause a sensation."

"I don't understand you, monsieur le baron; but you arrange things so well, that I rely on you."

And Ménard, overjoyed at the prospect of going to Monsieur Chambertin's the next day, dug his heels into his horse's sides for the first time in his life,—to be sure, he had no spurs,—and trotted along at Dubourg's side.

"Still, it's a great pity that my pupil has made this new acquaintance," he said; "a woman sometimes makes a man commit many follies! Cato said that wisdom and common sense were incompatible with a woman's mind."

"Oh! probably Cato was unlucky in love, Monsieur Ménard."

"Saint Bernard calls woman the organum diaboli."

"But Confucius declares that a woman's mind is the masterpiece of the Creator."

"Juvenal says that the thought of vengeance has more attraction for a woman than for a man."

"Which proves, Monsieur Ménard, that she bears some resemblance to the gods."

"And Origen says: 'Woman is the key to sin.'"

"I had always supposed that she was only the lock."

"Agnès Sorel enfeebled the courage of Charles VII."

"Joanna of Naples caused her husband to be strangled."

"Jeanne Hachette saved Beauvais."

"On the whole, monsieur le baron, it seems to be about an even thing."

Let us leave our two friends to return to Grenoble, discussing the nature of womankind,—a discussion which might lead them very far, and leave them without any additional knowledge of the subject; for a learned man has said that a woman's heart has as many varying moods as there are grains of sand on the seashore (and he must have been learned, indeed, to know the number of the latter),—and let us return to Frédéric.

He breathed more freely when Dubourg had left him, and ere long he heard the steps of the horses which bore his companions away. Thereupon, as well pleased as Crates, who cried, after throwing all his money into the sea: "Now I am free!" he felt more at liberty to abandon himself to his passion for the dumb girl, since he was rid of Dubourg and Ménard; and he hurried away to the cabin. Frédéric did not look beyond the present; he did not reflect; for he was twenty-one years old, and he was passionately in love!

At last, Frédéric appeared. She did not run—she flew into his arms; she cast her eyes about; he was alone, and her heart was more at ease.

"No," said her lover, kissing her; "I will not leave you. Where could I find a lovelier woman—one more faithful or more worthy to be loved? What do I care what they say? what do I care for a world to which no tie binds me? I am perfectly happy here. My father himself could not induce me to give you up!"

Another kiss on the girl's sweet lips sealed the promise he had made. The night with its darkness brought even sweeter moments, for the lovers shared the same couch; and in the arms of her who lavished the most loving caresses upon him, Frédéric repeated his vow:

"No, I will never leave you!"

But after a week, the days passed less swiftly for our lover; the poor girl's fond caresses no longer sufficed to occupy the time; he felt that he must have some occupation, that one cannot dream one's whole life away beside a mountain stream.

After another week, he began to gaze longingly in the direction of Grenoble. He was surprised that Dubourg did not return to inquire as to his welfare, and that Ménard too had forgotten him. Indeed, I believe that in his heart he was offended. Did he no longer love Sister Anne? Oh! yes, he loved her still. But time!—And, as Dubourg had well said, there is no love strong enough to stand a tête-à-tête of three weeks.

But let us not anticipate; let us leave him with the dumb girl, who loves him as dearly as on the first day, because—oh! ask some woman why!—and let us return to Dubourg, who once more has the funds for the journey at his disposal.

On arriving at Grenoble, Dubourg ordered dinner, and the usual repast, common to all the guests, was served to them.

"What kind of a dinner is this? we must have something different to eat, and, above all, some different wines," said Dubourg, beginning to make an uproar because he had money in his pocket.

"Take your pay out of this."

The host opened his eyes; his pinched nostrils expanded; his mouth, in his efforts to give it an amiable expression, split from ear to ear; he tied himself up in apologetic phrases, and ended by saying that he would at once make up his account, but that he hoped that the gentlemen would not leave him, and, if agreeable to them, he would give them muscatel with their dinner.

When he had gone, Monsieur Ménard, whose expression was almost as comical as the innkeeper's, said to Dubourg:

"Have you received funds from Poland, monsieur le baron?"

"Why, yes, to be sure, Monsieur Ménard. Parbleu! Money isn't apt to be scarce long, with me."

"But I didn't see the courier who——"

"You must have been asleep when he arrived. The main point is that we can go anywhere now, and not have to stand by, like misers, and watch other people play, which is not noble at all. To begin with, we will go to see our friend Chambertin to-morrow; but, in my judgment, we had better send a messenger to give him notice of our proposed visit, so that he may entertain us as we deserve. What do you think about it, Monsieur Ménard?"

"I think that cannot fail to have a good effect, monsieur le baron."

Ménard went out to look for a boy to be transformed into an English jockey, while Dubourg composed the following epistle:

They handed the letter to the scullery boy disguised as a courier, who, in consideration of a five-franc piece, went off at once to deliver it at its address.

Monsieur and Madame Chambertin were about to retire when the messenger arrived. It was half-past nine o'clock; and in the country, when one does not cultivate letters, or music, or painting, or one's garden, the evenings seem interminable. Monsieur Chambertin had played the violin, and madame had sung a new romanza; then they had talked of the noble Pole, whom they despaired of seeing again; and monsieur had said: "I am amazed; he gave me his word that he would come." And madame had added, with a sigh: "It surprises me much more than you."

The noise made by the messenger caused Monsieur Chambertin to pause as he was about putting his legs under the bedclothes. He did not continue, although his wife said to him: "Do get into bed; the servants are there to answer the bell." But who could have come so late?

At that name, Monsieur Chambertin, who still held his leg in the air, ready to thrust it into bed, abruptly withdrew it and, losing his balance, rolled on the floor; while Madame Chambertin sat up in bed, and called loudly for a mirror to arrange her hair. Her husband rose meanwhile, and ran to get his dressing-gown, calling to Lunel:

"I am coming, Lunel; I am coming right away!"

"Give it to me instantly, monsieur," cried Madame Chambertin; "I am in a hurry, I shall never have time."

Monsieur Chambertin handed his wife something that she had not asked for, and ran to open the door. Lunel entered, followed by the jockey, while Madame Chambertin, furious at her husband's mistake, drew her bed-curtains together with a jerk, that she might not be seen in an equivocal position.

Monsieur Chambertin took the letter and read it; at each word, his face became more radiant; he could not contain himself, but called out to his wife:

"The baron is coming! He calls me De Chambertin d'Allevard! He kisses your hand, wife!"

And Chambertin ran to open the curtains, and came in collision with the object he had handed madame by mistake.

"Take care, monsieur!" said she; "what on earth are you doing?"

"D'Allevard, wife!" cried Chambertin, seizing the article in question and strutting about the room with it. "D'Allevard—just as if I were the lord of the district; indeed I am—almost—and I hope that, thanks to the baron, I shall soon be so altogether!"

When the messenger had gone, Chambertin threw himself into an armchair, and madame replaced her head on the pillow; but the letter they had received made it impossible for them to think of sleep. Monsieur Chambertin read it again. He was especially flattered by the title D'Allevard.

"It's the name of the village," said madame.

"True; but by putting it after my name, it ennobles me."

"You know perfectly well, monsieur, that that's what everybody does in Paris; aren't there two of our neighbors who call themselves by the name of their town: Monsieur Gérard de Villers-Cotterets, and Monsieur Leroux d'Ermenonville? Six months ago, I told you you ought to call yourself Chambertin d'Allevard; but you never listen to me."

"My dear love, now that monsieur le baron has given me that title, I certainly shall not give it up; and I shall never sign my name any other way. To-morrow, wife, I give a party."

"I trust so, monsieur."

"Dinner, ball, concert, and fireworks. I believe no fireworks have ever been seen in the neighborhood, and they'll produce a tremendous effect. I shall invite all the best people among our neighbors."

"I'll have my hair dressed à la Ferronnière; that's very becoming to me."

"I'll have the whole estate illuminated."

"My dress with a train——"

"With colored lanterns."

"Lamps in the courtyard——"

"My cherry-colored slippers."

"The largest I can find."

"A scarf."

"Festoons of flowers."

"My pearl necklace."

"And a fusillade!"

The landlord made up his account so that it came to just five hundred francs, and monsieur le baron was entitled to no change. Any other than Dubourg would have contested the charge of three hundred francs for laming three or four wretched horses which were too old to draw the plough; but he did not enjoy scrutinizing accounts; he contented himself with ordering a neat tilbury for the morrow, and two of the landlord's servants to represent his suite.

Dubourg then took cognizance of the contents of his cash-box; he found himself the possessor of forty-five hundred francs; that was more than he needed to win ten times as much. He trusted that the local ironmasters would make up the sum that the chevalier and the count with lace cuffs had filched from him.

They set out, Dubourg driving; but although he had asked the host for his best horses, he could not succeed in inducing them to gallop; he had to be content with a very moderate trot, which necessarily delayed their arrival. Ménard was afraid that they would dine without them, and Dubourg was in despair because he could not enter Monsieur Chambertin's domain with the speed of a locomotive.

It was half-past five when at last they descried the roofs of Allevard. Dubourg exhausted himself trying to increase the speed of his horses. As they drew near Monsieur Chambertin's house, in front of which there was a large number of people, he said to Ménard:

"Poke them with your cane, so that we may drive up at a decent trot at least."

As Ménard put out his arm to comply, they heard a great outcry of: "Here they are! here they are!" Four musket-shots followed in rapid succession, two violins and a clarinet executed the overture to La Caravane; and the two nags, frightened by the reports and the music, shied and dragged the char-à-bancs up a hillside to the right of the road, instead of keeping on toward the house.

"This is charming, delightful!" cried Dubourg; while Ménard, who was afraid of being overturned, exclaimed:

"Take care, monsieur le baron; our horses are running away!"

And Monsieur Chambertin, who had been waiting to illuminate since two o'clock, said to his guests:

But, when coming down the hill again, the horses went much faster, and at every instant the fragile carriage nearly overturned as it passed over the stones or sank into ruts; Ménard trembled with fear, the two jockeys cried out, and Dubourg said to them:

"Be still, you rascals! I told you not to talk French; don't be afraid, I'll answer for everything."

The carriage went like the wind; luckily, they were then headed toward the house; but instead of passing through the main gateway, the coursers ran full tilt at the wall. The shock was so violent that the two jockeys were thrown out on the grass. Dubourg jumped out, crying: "I will answer for everything!" Ménard alone remained in his seat, as if he were glued to it.

No one was injured. Dubourg went forward laughing to salute the company, declaring that that was the usual way of alighting from a carriage in Poland. Ménard, proud of having retained his seat, joined the party, displaying his ruff; and the two scullions pointed to their buttocks, without a word, when Lunel asked them if they were hurt.

Dubourg was welcomed most cordially. Monsieur Chambertin was in the seventh heaven, for the baron pressed his hand and called him his dear friend; Madame Chambertin was no less gratified, the illustrious stranger having whispered as he saluted her: "You have not been out of my mind one moment." And all the guests seemed overjoyed to be in the company of a great noble, who did not put on airs at all, and made everybody feel at ease.

They took their places at the table, Dubourg in the seat of honor at madame's right, and Ménard, to his great delight, beside Monsieur Fondant, who talked no more than before, but was very attentive to him in the way of filling his glass and passing him food.

"I hope," said Chambertin, "that monsieur le baron will give us a few days, and Monsieur Ménard as well."

"Yes," said Dubourg, "we have arranged to pass several days in this delightful spot."

As he spoke, he touched Madame Chambertin's knee with his own, whereupon she swallowed a chicken bone to cover an imprudent sigh. Ménard bowed, and Chambertin rejoined:

"I have but one regret, and that is that you did not bring your friend the Comte de—the Comte du—you know whom I mean."

"Oh! he's an original," said Dubourg; "he shuns society. I left him my berlin and my servants, and brought only my two little Poles."

"Ah! they are Poles, are they? They are dapper little fellows; I took them for Cossacks."

At that moment, Lunel appeared and informed Dubourg that his servants were raising the deuce in the kitchen and refused to answer any questions.

"Parbleu! I should think so! they don't understand French."

"Allow the baron's people to do as they choose," said Chambertin, "and try to understand their signs."

The high spirits of Dubourg and the learned Ménard enlivened the whole company. They talked and laughed and ate and drank. But whenever Dubourg spoke, Chambertin looked about and said:

"Sh! let us listen to monsieur le baron."

At dessert, Monsieur Bidault proposed to sing; but Dubourg observed that in good society it was no longer fashionable to sing, and Chambertin imposed silence on the ex-notary.

"Singing isn't fashionable," he said; "what were you thinking about?"

But the corpulent Frossard was in the habit of singing, and he was not at all abashed by what Chambertin said; whereupon the host, seeing that he could not prevent him from singing his drinking-song, requested the company to walk into the adjoining room, where the concert was about to begin, hoping that the ironmaster's ditty would pass for an aria.

A lady and gentleman regaled the company with a piece for harp and piano, with thirty-six variations. The mayor took his 'cello, and the notary a violin; a horn was presented to Dubourg, who had said that he played on all instruments, but who now declared that he could play only the English horn, and passed the instrument to Ménard, forcing him into a seat in front of a music stand. The tutor stared at him in amazement, but he whispered in his ear:

"Just blow into it, and don't look embarrassed."

"I have never heard such sweet music! no one would believe that it was a horn!"

Everybody applauded, and Ménard, after it was all over, said to himself:

"I knew how to play the horn, and I never suspected it!"

The concert came to an end at last; Dubourg suggested a game, and the tables were soon arranged. Backgammon is not often played in a salon, but Dubourg said that they played nothing else at the Polish court; whereupon Monsieur Chambertin instantly produced a board, and declared that within a week he would have four in his salon. Dubourg and Frossard took their places, and Chambertin watched them play, although he did not understand the game at all.

Dubourg was in luck; he urged his adversary to increase the stakes, and tried to taunt him into doing so. He had won some twenty louis, when there was a tremendous report in the garden.

Cries of: "It's the fireworks!" arose on all sides, and everybody hurried into the garden.

"To the devil with the fireworks!" exclaimed Dubourg; "the dice are just beginning to fall well for me!"

But he tried in vain to detain the ironmaster, who was determined to see the fireworks; so Dubourg concluded to do as everybody else did.

"Where are you taking me, pray?" madame asked, now and then. But Dubourg replied:

"I don't know at all, but let us go on."

They soon came to a small summer-house, which was not lighted and had but one window, a little farther from the ground than an ordinary ground-floor window. Dubourg opened the door, pushed Madame Chambertin in, and entered behind her, taking care to close the door.

Meanwhile, Monsieur Chambertin, who had provided the fireworks expressly for his friend the baron, was looking for him in the glare of a Bengal-light; as he did not see him, he ran hither and thither, crying:

"Come, monsieur le baron, come, I entreat you! Two pieces have been set off already, and they're just lighting the first transparency!"

Dubourg, who was probably not thinking of the transparency at that moment, heard Chambertin's voice, and called to him from the interior of the summer-house:

"I am here, I can see very well; don't worry about me; your good wife is obliging enough to explain the fireworks to me."

"What! I don't see you at the window."

"Ah! that's good! I am delighted that you have a good place," said Chambertin, standing under the window. "I arranged the display myself; did you see the sun?"

"No, but I smelt it; it smelt something like the moon."

"Look at these little serpents; what perpetual motion! they go very well, don't they?"

"Wonderfully well."

"Pray explain the transparency to monsieur le baron, wife."

"Oh! monsieur le baron grasps it all very quickly," replied Madame Chambertin, in a voice upon which the smoke seemed to have had a serious effect.

"Look out! there goes the bouquet!"

The bouquet exploded amid applause and shouts of bravo! The company returned to the house, enchanted by the display, and Madame Chambertin came out of the summer-house with monsieur le baron.

"The bouquet was fine," said Chambertin, rubbing his hands.

"I am still a little dazed by it," said madame, tremulously.

"It was worthy of the lord of this domain," added Dubourg.

"Upon my word," said Chambertin, "I believe I am almost that."

"You are altogether, my dear friend; it is I who say it."

"When a man of your eminence assures me of it, monsieur le baron, I can no longer doubt it."

The finest apartment on the first floor had been prepared for the young nobleman, and a pretty room on the second for the professor, who, if he had been nothing more than that, would probably have been relegated to the attic, but who was treated with the highest consideration because he was the baron's friend and companion.

The whole household had retired. Ménard was already snoring like one of the blessed, which means that the blessed do not have bad dreams. Dubourg stretched himself out luxuriously in a soft bed, surrounded by rich silk curtains with gold fringe and tassels, and said to himself:

Reflecting thus, Dubourg was beginning to doze, when he heard a great uproar in the courtyard,—outcries, oaths, and roars of laughter,—and, in the midst of it, he fancied that he recognized the voice of one of his jockeys. He rose, partly dressed himself, and opened the window looking on the courtyard. He saw a number of servants assembled there, and old Lunel fighting for a chicken with one of the little Poles, while the other was shrieking and weeping in a corner.

The two scullions, faithful to the orders Dubourg had given them, had replied only by signs to the other servants; but Lunel, who was Monsieur Chambertin's steward, valet, and groom, all in one, was very ill disposed toward the baron's servants, as well as toward their master, whom he had driven to Grenoble, and from whom he had received no other pourboire than a tap on the cheek. The two boys had bruised themselves behind, when they were thrown out of the carriage; that was why, when trying to make themselves understood by signs, they frequently put their hands to the injured part: a gesture which seemed to Lunel most insulting, and he was convinced that the young Poles intended to make sport of him.

The little fellows, spurred on by hunger, got scent of the store-closet, which was in the kitchen; and as one of the kitchen windows was open, they easily crawled in, and, making a hole in the canvas door of the closet, one of them seized a chicken which had not been touched, the other the carcass of a hare which still had some meat on it. They were about to fly with their booty when Lunel discovered them; he shouted thief! and struck at them with a whip with which he had armed himself. The scullions ran to the window and climbed through; one fell and bruised his nose; the other, being less awkward, was running off with his chicken, when Lunel overtook him and tried to wrest it from him. Thereupon a struggle began.

"You shan't have it!" cried the boy.

"Oho! you little rascal! you can talk French now, can you? I'll teach you to make insulting signs to me!"

Meanwhile, the one who had fallen cried:

"I've broke my nose; it's that old dodger's fault for not giving us any supper!"

It was at this crisis that Dubourg appeared at his window. All the servants had come down into the courtyard; and Monsieur Chambertin also appeared on his balcony, in his robe de chambre.

"What's the meaning of all this noise?" he demanded.

"Those are my little Poles."

"He didn't give us any supper," said the boys, "and he was waiting for us in a corner with a whip."

"A miracle!" cried Dubourg; "they have spoken! they understand! That whip seems to have taught them more quickly than any schooling!—Come, my young friends, come up here and let me hear you speak French, and you shall have some supper."

"And you, knave," shouted Monsieur Chambertin to his servant, "if you presume to lay a finger on monsieur le baron's Poles again, I'll have you horsewhipped, and discharge you!"

"They're no more Poles than I am a Turk!" muttered Lunel, as he walked away.

The jockeys went up to their master's apartments, with the chicken and the hare they had rescued from the battle; the servants returned to bed, and Monsieur Chambertin resumed his place beside his wife, who was dreaming that she was in the summer-house, and that they were about to set off a petard.

Dubourg concluded that it would be imprudent to keep with him two young imps who would surely get into further mischief. So, early the next morning, he gave them each three francs and sent them back to Grenoble, to the great contentment of Lunel, who did not like Poles.

Dubourg gambled every evening, but only for small stakes. Frossard was absent, Monsieur Chambertin never got excited over the game, and Dubourg began to think that he would not double his capital. But the host's birthday was approaching, and on that occasion the house was to be turned topsy-turvy once more. Some very wealthy friends from Paris were expected, who would play as high as monsieur le baron wished. It was Madame Chambertin who had invited them, for she did everything that she could to detain the agreeable guest; and she said to her husband every day:

"You don't realize all the honor Monsieur de Potoski does you by paying you a visit; you have no conception of it!"

"I assure you, my dear love, that I am very proud of it, and that I will do all that I can to keep him."

"You will do well, monsieur; for his going would leave a great void in my life. He is a man who would be very hard to replace. He is noble to his finger-tips."

But everything was in commotion at Monsieur Chambertin's, where great preparations were being made for the approaching function, of which the charming stranger was again to be the hero. Monsieur Chambertin seemed determined to outdo himself; he sent for workmen, whom he employed with a great show of mystery in the garden, and they seemed always to be in the neighborhood of the summer-house. He was preparing a surprise for his guest; and as his last fireworks were talked about all over the neighborhood, he determined that the renown of his next display should reach to Lyon.

"Twice happy the day that I met you!" he whispered to madame.

"What do you say? twice?" she replied, with a sigh; "oh! that is not enough! say rather four, or five, or six times!"

"Let us call it seven, and stop at that!" said Dubourg.

The dinner came to an end. Monsieur Chambertin had but one regret—that his friend Durosey, whom he had been expecting from Paris for several days, had not arrived. Every time that he heard friend Durosey's name, Dubourg said to himself:

"I used to know someone of that name in Paris; but where in the devil did I know him?"

He asked Chambertin who this Monsieur Durosey might be.

"He's a wholesale merchant, who has just retired from business with twenty thousand francs a year."

"In that case," thought Dubourg, "it can't be the man I knew, for I never associated with wholesale merchants."

The meeting was exceedingly disagreeable to Dubourg, but he did not lose his head; and when Chambertin came forward with Durosey, saying: "I present you to Monsieur le Baron de Potoski, a Polish palatine," Dubourg bowed and smirked, blinking his eyes, twisting his mouth, and making such grimaces that it was improbable that his creditor could recognize him.

Monsieur Durosey did not stop in front of Dubourg, who felt more at ease and resumed his game more tranquilly. From time to time, however, he glanced about the salon, and when he met his former entertainer's eye he fancied that the latter was scrutinizing him carefully; whereupon he resumed his facial contortions and grimacing, and tried to affect a sort of Saint Vitus's dance by constantly twisting his nose and mouth toward his left ear.

But as he was looking about for his friend Chambertin, to borrow a few thousand francs, with which he hoped to recover what he had lost,—for a gambler continues to hope until he is on his death-bed,—the former restaurant keeper, who had not lost sight of him, joined him in a window recess. It was impossible to avoid him.

"How is Monsieur Dubourg?" he asked, with a roguish air.

"Dubourg? what do you mean by Dubourg?" replied the pretended baron, working his nose and mouth more violently than ever.

"Oh! I have the honor to recognize monsieur," retorted the creditor, in a louder tone; "but I didn't know that he was a Polish baron——"

"Hush! not another word, my dear Monsieur Durosey," said Dubourg, seeing that it was impossible to hoodwink his interlocutor. "I didn't recognize you at first, but now I place you perfectly. I am delighted to see you."

"The same with me, monsieur. You seem to be in very comfortable circumstances now, staking five hundred francs at once at écarté, and I trust that you will pay me the four hundred francs you——"

"Yes, yes, with great pleasure; I will give them to you this very evening. When I left Paris, I forgot that trifling debt."

"Hush! I know all about that; silence, Monsieur Durosey! Since then, I have come into my property, and my titles—I will pay you in a moment."

"Oh! in that case, monsieur le baron may be assured that this will remain a secret between us."

Dubourg walked away from Monsieur Durosey and once more looked about for Chambertin, when that gentleman entered the salon, crying:

"Come into the garden, everybody; we are going to set off the fireworks."

"I have a favor to ask of you," said Dubourg, walking up to him.

"After the fireworks, monsieur le baron, I shall be entirely at your service. Be good enough to go to the summer-house; I flatter myself that you will be able to see as well there as you did before; my wife will take you there."

And Chambertin hurried away, with a mischievous air, while Dubourg said to himself:

"Parbleu! it's decidedly amusing that he should send me to the summer-house with his wife."

He went into the garden and found Madame Chambertin, who remembered the last pyrotechnic display and was waiting for monsieur le baron for the second performance. Madame asked nothing better than to go again to the little summer-house, where they could see so well, and where they had such comfortable seats; which latter would be most essential, as she had urged her husband to make the display last as long as possible.

"Turn toward the summer-house, and look at what comes next; that's where the surprise is to be."

Everybody turned in that direction, Monsieur Chambertin gave the signal, the walls of the summer-house fell away as if by magic, leaving the roof supported by four pillars, and a lighted match instantly set fire to four Bengal-lights, which had been secretly placed inside, together with a transparency on which were these words: To Baron Potoski, from his grateful friend Chambertin.

This was the surprise which Monsieur Chambertin had been mysteriously preparing for several days; but he did not expect the surprise that his friend the baron had in reserve for him: the explosion and the demolition of the summer-house had taken place so suddenly, that the couple inside had not even had time to cease their conversation, and it seemed to all the company to be exceedingly animated.

The men laughed, the ladies bit their lips to avoid imitating them. Ménard, who was in the rear of the crowd, called out:

"Pray explain the transparency!"

And Monsieur Chambertin was struck dumb.

All this was the affair of a minute; Dubourg required no longer time to realize what remained for him to do. He had not a sou, he had found a creditor, he could expect nothing from his friend Chambertin except a horsewhipping or a sword-thrust; so it behooved him to leave the house instanter.

At the end of the path was a little gate leading into the fields; Dubourg opened it and pushed Ménard through, who had no idea where he was, and fancied that their friend Chambertin's house had caught fire. His companion locked the little gate and threw away the key.

"Come," he said, "forward at the double-quick! We have drunk the cup of pleasure, now we must put ourselves on a strict diet; it will do us good. Now is the time for us to say: Non est beatus qui cupida possidet, sed qui negata non cupit."

"Amen!" said Ménard, as he trotted along by his side.

After they had run for more than a league, as if they were pursued, Ménard, utterly exhausted, stopped, declared that he could hold out no longer, and dropped on the turf. Dubourg thought that they could safely halt for a while, so he seated himself beside his companion.

"My dear Monsieur Ménard, the jug that goes often to the well ends by being broken or filled, as you choose; and in this case I rather think both things have happened."

"What jug are you talking about? what have you broken? I don't understand you, monsieur le baron."

"So I see, and I will explain my meaning in another way. Did you notice that man they called Durosey, who didn't arrive at friend Chambertin's until this evening?"

"Yes, monsieur le baron."

"Do you know who that man is?"

"I heard it said that he was a retired merchant."

"Yes, he represented himself as such, the better to deceive me, no doubt. Did you notice what a forbidding face he had?"

"I noticed that he looked at you very often, monsieur le baron, with close attention."

"Parbleu! I should say as much; and he recognized me. Monsieur Ménard, that man is nothing else than a disguised Turkish spy, who has been sent in pursuit of me."

"Is it possible?"

"Mon Dieu!" said Ménard, looking behind him; "I believe that my strength has come back. Suppose we go on?"

"No, don't be alarmed, Monsieur Ménard; the rascals have lost our trail and won't dare to follow us."

"But how does it happen that Monsieur Chambertin receives as a guest——"

"Oh! my poor Ménard, you don't know mankind! With a dozen cashmere shawls, a collection of pastilles, a box of little bottles of attar of rose, you can make people do whatever you choose. However, I don't accuse Chambertin; he may very well have been deceived; but, just as the fireworks went off, I noticed several evil-looking men; and I at once determined to fly."

"You acted very wisely. But our carriage?"

"I certainly shall not go after it."

"Nor I. But what about our landlord at Grenoble, who owns it?"

"He has our post chaise to pay for it."

"But what are we to travel with hereafter?"

"With our legs, I fancy. Indeed, when one hasn't a sou to pay for horses, there's no use in having a post chaise."

"What's that, monsieur le baron? you haven't any money?"

"No, my dear Ménard; I lost all that I possessed, this evening. That Turk's presence confused me; I didn't know what I was doing, and I played like a fool."

"How can we possibly rely on Frédéric's having any money. He has just made a new acquaintance, and new acquaintances, Monsieur Ménard, are always very expensive; we play the open-handed lover, we deny our charmer nothing. I am sure that that girl is making him spend money like water! At his age, a young man doesn't know the value of money, and has no idea of economy."

"But, monsieur le baron, I don't quite see how they could spend much money, living in the woods."

"You don't see? well, I do! It's first one thing, then another—no end to the whims. You don't suppose that they have stayed in their little cabin this whole month, do you? I can safely tell you, now, that Frédéric proposed to hire an apartment for the girl."

"But, monsieur le baron, did you not point out to him——"

"He's old enough to do as he pleases. However, don't get excited; I'll see him. I'll go alone first, so as not to anger him, and, if he is willing to listen to me, I'll bring him back. But, meanwhile, we must live. How much money have you?"

"About thirty francs."

"That isn't much; but if we are economical, it will last us some time; we shall have to live very sparingly; but that will do us good. These big dinners overheat our blood; it's very unhealthy to eat five or six rich dishes and drink several kinds of wine every day."

"Still, monsieur le baron, I am inclined to think that we were both getting fat at Monsieur Chambertin's."

"Ah! I agree with you this time, monsieur le baron; for if those Turks should find you——"

"That's the reason why I think it wouldn't be prudent to return to Grenoble, where I might be arrested—I should say, kidnapped by those cutthroats. Besides, having no money, we should be ill received by our host, who would claim, I dare swear, that his carriage is worth more than ours. We will avoid passing through the town, and with your thirty francs we will take lodgings in some little village."

"But when that's all gone, monsieur le baron?"

"Parbleu! then we'll see; there's no use of worrying beforehand. Frédéric can write to his father."

"I am afraid monsieur le comte will be angry——"

"I will write to my aunt."

"To your aunt, monsieur le baron?"

"I should say, to my steward. At all events, we will find some way out of it. Besides, suppose we should groan and moan—would that help matters at all? So let us make the best of it. Come, it's a superb night, and we have had a good rest—let's push on. Faith! there's nothing like travelling on foot, if you want to admire the landscape. Come, my dear Ménard, summon your courage! Since we have been together, we have had lots of ups and downs; have you ever seen me mope?"

"Ah! monsieur le baron, everybody isn't as philosophical as you are."

The travellers resumed their journey. Dubourg was a curious sight in his full dress, starched ruff, and thin pumps, walking beside Ménard, who wore silk short-clothes, black stockings, and buckled shoes, and who was compelled, in that costume, to climb hills, jump ditches, and plod along over ground that, at the best, was very uneven. Luckily, they had taken their hats when they went out to see the fireworks, otherwise they would have had to traverse Dauphiné as if they were calling on their neighbors.

At daybreak, they stopped at a peasant's house and obtained breakfast. Dubourg ordered an omelet and some native wine. They ate their repast under an arbor, surrounded by domestic animals who came to keep them company.

"How pleasant it is in the open air!" said Dubourg; "are all the gilded halls and antechambers on earth equal to this open country—to the perfect liberty which is ours at this moment?"

"It is certain," rejoined Ménard, driving away a big cat that persisted in putting its paws in his plate, "it is certain that we are entirely at liberty here,—that there is no suspicion of restraint—— Well, well, here's the dog now, trying to get my bread!"

"Well, Monsieur Ménard, every creature must live. In the time of our first parents, these innocent beasts shared their masters' meals; the lion ate from the hand of man, and the tiger gambolled at his feet."

"Never mind; I love everything that recalls those days of innocence. When I look at this hen walking on our table, and this duck splashing in the mud at our feet, I fancy that I am living in the Age of Gold. Not until I feel in my pocket do I realize the delusion."

Unluckily, the eggs in the omelet were not fresh, and the wine was sour; Ménard made a wry face at every mouthful and every swallow, while Dubourg said:

"I know of no healthier food than an omelet. Whatever country you travel in, wherever you may be, if there are eggs, you have an omelet! Everybody knows how to make it; it's a universal dish, the dish of nature."

"If only the eggs were fresh!"

"Faith! this little taste of straw isn't unpleasant; at need, it will take the place of tarragon. And this wine—at all events, I'll guarantee that it won't do us any harm."

"It's infernally sour!"

"A proof that it's unadulterated."

Despite all that Dubourg could say to make Ménard approve of the breakfast, the tutor said, as they left the table:

"I think that we must go to hunt up Monsieur Frédéric de Montreville."

And Dubourg said to himself:

"He'll receive me cordially, when he knows that I have broken the bank again in less than a month! How in the devil am I to get out of the scrape? And how am I going to ask him for anything, when he gave it all to me? I can't go and preach to him—that isn't in my line. Indeed, I think that I shall have to induce Ménard to come and live in the woods with me; we will become hermits, and I won't play écarté any more."

"Well, well! what in heaven's name has happened to him?" inquired the tutor, anxiously.

"The ingrate! the harebrained fool!"

"Speak, monsieur le baron, I entreat you!"

"I suspected that he would do some insane thing. He has gone off with his fair one. They left the forest a fortnight ago."

"Great heaven! what will monsieur le comte say? what answer shall I make him, when he asks me what I have done with his son?"

"You must tell him that you lost him."

"Do you believe, monsieur le baron, that such an answer will satisfy him?"

"Then you can tell him that he lost himself. But be calm, my dear Ménard. I promise you that we will find Frédéric again. I have friends in all the courts of Europe; the young man will be restored to us."

This promise pacified poor Ménard to some extent, and Dubourg continued:

The travellers resumed their journey, and at nightfall arrived at Voreppe, a small town about two leagues from Grenoble. Dubourg inquired for the best inn, and went thither with his companion. They entered the common-room, Dubourg with his head in the air and a determined bearing, Ménard with downcast eyes and a very modest mien.

Several guests were talking together in the room, awaiting the supper hour.

"Will the gentlemen eat at the table d'hôte?" the servant inquired.

"Yes, of course," replied Dubourg; "we like company—don't we, my friend?"

"Yes, monsieur le ba—yes, my friend," said Ménard, being reminded by a blow from his friend's elbow that there was to be no more mention of barons.

Dubourg listened to what the other guests were saying, but the conversation was far from interesting; the tradesmen discussed business, the townspeople talked gossip, and Dubourg failed to discover any Chambertin to dazzle. He paced the floor of the common-room, jingling the few copper coins which he still had in his pocket, and halting now and then in front of Ménard to offer him a pinch of snuff; and Ménard, for all his depression, looked with unabated respect on the snuff-box which was held out to him.

Suddenly a little man of some fifty years of age, in a cinnamon-colored coat, green breeches, cavalry boots, and a cap with a visor that might at need serve as an umbrella, entered the room, with the air of one full of business, and said in a very loud tone:

The little man threw himself into a chair, and was instantly surrounded by all the gossips and guests of the inn.

"What is it, Monsieur Floridor?" queried the hostess; "have your actors gone back on you?"

"Yes, the most necessary and most important ones of the lot: the jeune premier, and the noble father, two talented actors, who would have completed my troupe. The jeune premier was to come from Cambrai, where he has played such parts as Colin and Elleviou for twenty years; he is a man of the most charming, consummate talent. I saw him a month ago, in Sargine, or Love's Pupil, for he has been playing the ingénus and young lovers for some years. Ah! how delighted I was! an affecting voice, and a superb figure! a little taller than I am. And in tragic parts—such fire! such spirit! I wept when I saw him do Tartufe. As for the noble father, he is a most invaluable actor. For thirty years he has been the delight of Beaugency, and I saw him act at Doyen's, in Paris, with marvellous success. He takes all sorts of parts—kings, fathers, tyrants, Cassandras—he can handle anything. He made a specialty of the noble fathers' rôles only because he lost his teeth, which does not prevent his displaying plenty of bite in his diction."