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THE PARTY OF PLEASURE.

just going before the Mayor for a couple of walnuts whieh Grigou knocked from the tree. It is only a joke, but not a pleasant one neither. However, as we have nothing else to do, we may as well go. It will be a delightful walk for ns, and we shall perhaps see the fete when we get to the village.”

The party were by no means pleased with this arrangement; but as M. Barbeau was with the ac- cused, and the witnesses already several yards in ad- vance, the ladies, the artist, and young Alexander, reluctantly followed. As they walked on, M. Bar- beau told the countrymen story after story, to prove how wrong they were in apprehending a man for knocking down a walnut. At length, Grigou whis- pered to him, ® But you are the cause of all this, for you made ime do it.”

“Hold your foolish tongue,” replied M. Barbeau, giving him a smart blow in the side with his elbow. “Hold your fvolish tongue—you will make your case worse if you talk about that.”

“When they reached Romainville, they found no more the appearance of a fete than at Belleville — They proceeded immediately tothe house of the mayor, accompanied by all the children of the village, who had joined Grigou’s escort, of which M. Barbeau seem- ed to be the chief’ He walked proudly at the head, talking without intermission, and by his pomposity and dogmatical air, he had already intimidated the garde- champetre, who began to doubt whether he had not made a mistake. Even the peasants showed less con- fidence; for these people generally think that a man who talks continually must in the end be right. In this siate of things, an indifferent spectator would have imagined that it was M. Barbeau who had ordered Grigou’s apprehension.

The mayor was not at home; he was gone to the Mairie.

“Well, let us go to the Mairiec,” cried M. Barbeau. But Madame Barbeau and the children being tired, they seated themselves on a stone bench with M. Bel- lefeuille, who wanted to sketch the entrance to a dairy.

On their arrival at the Mairie, they were informed that the village magistrate was not there; he was gone to father Antoine's pot-house, where there was a quarrel among some of the customers.

The garde-champetre and the peasants looked at one another with an air of indecision. It was easy to perceive that they were tired of walking about with their prisoner, and that the affair might easily be set- tled with a few conciliatory words and a pot of wine. But Barbeau had no notion of such a thing. Without listening to Grigou, who pulled him by the coat, “Come,” said he, “we will go to father Antoine’s.— We must see the mayor. I shall be delighted to see him. This gentleman has been taken up, and must be tried.”

“But,” whispered Grigou, “they seem now disposed to listen to reason.”

“No matter, we must go to father Antoine's. I don’t choose to have had this walk for nothing. The matter shall not end thus.”

They proceeded to father Antoine’s; the good man sold cakes, bacon, and wine. The mayor had just left the house, because the quarrel had been settled — Mother Antoine thought he had returned to the Mairie to decide the cause of Jean Marie and Gaspard, who, having a well common to both, had quarrelled about whose turn it was to put a new rope to the bucket.

“Well, then, we must return to the Mairie,” said M. Barbeau. But the garde champetre, accustomed to rest himself, and drink something whenever he passed father Antoine's door, had already taken his seat at a table. The peasants followed his example, saying, “Well, you may let the gentleman go; he won’t knock down walnuts another time. We've trudged about

enough for to day. Better let him go, hadn't you garde?”

The garde-champetre replied, filling a tumbler with wine, “Yes, yes, there’s been enough said about it this time;—the gentleman may go.”

Grigon was delighted, and was about to thenk every body, when M. Barbeau placing himself between Grigou and the garde.champetre, exclaimed, “I don’t agree to any such thing, gentlemen. A man is not to be dragged through the streets like a felon for nothing. I choose to return to the Mairie, and you shall come with me.”

At these words, Grigou became purple with rage, and exclaimed, in his turn, “By my mother's wig, M. Barbeau, this beats any thing lever heard. Now this unlucky business is settled, and these gentlemen have chosen to forgive my folly and let me go, you want to have me taken before the mayor.”

“Ves, sir, because I like that things should be done regularly and in proper form; because I detest arbi- trary acts, and because”.

“Go to the devil with your arbitrary acts! You told me yourself to knock down some walnuts”.

“What does that prove?”

“That you get people into difficulties and there leave them.”

“On the contrary, I am doing all that I can to extri- cate you.”

“You are an obstinate man.”

“And you, a cursed ass.”

The quarrel between the friends now became eo violent that the peasants were obliged to interfere and separate them. At length both were appeased, and harmony again restored. Barbeau now took a seat next the garde-champetre, and treated the whole party with wine. Grigou added té the treat, cakes made with rancid butter. The glass circulated, and the party became the best friends in the world.

In the midst of their conviviality, M. Barbeau in- quired where the fete was. “The fete?” replied one of the peasants, “why, sir, there is no fete to day at Romainville.”

“The deuce!’ exclaimed M. Barbeau; “we came here to see one, however.”

“The fete is at Bagnolet,” said another.

« At Bagnolet—ah! that’s lucky after all. go to Bagnolet. Is it far off?”

“No, sir, only about halfa mile. Go straight down the high road, till you come to the first turning on the left, and there it is.”

“Come along, Grigou. One glass more and away. The ladies are waiting for us on thestone bench. Good bye, my friends; here’s a health to you all.”

On leaving the pot-house, the ex-bookseller said to his friend, “Yon now perceive that all is ended well —I was as cool as a cucumber during the whole business.”

“It was not your fault, however,” Grigou replied, “if matters are not worse.”

“Nonsense—you did not understand my tactics. If I had been a poor crying devil like you, we should still have remained prisoners.”

They found the rest of the party on the stone bench. Bellefeuille had sketched three cows and the popula- tion of a poultry yard.

“We are going to Bagnolet,” roared M. Barbeau the moment he caught sight of his wife at a distance.

“To Bagnolet!” Madame Barbeau replied to her husband as he reached the stone bench. “To Bagnolet! Why you are out of your senses, M. Barbeau, to thiftk of such a thing. It is almost dark.”

“What has that to do with the matter? You are not frightened when we are with you my love.”

“But we are all so tired.”

“It is down hill all the way, I tell you.”

“We are starved.”

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We will