"What, Monsieur Raymond! haven't you got any further than that?"
"Oh! I'll be ready in a moment, I assure you."
"I'll bet that you won't be ready in half an hour."
"Pshaw! you'll see how quick I am! While you are waiting, amuse yourself
by looking over my little water colors--my sketches; there are some very
good little things there, as you'll see. If I had more time to myself,
I'd go into oils and exhibit at the Salon, but I am never at liberty."
"I advise you to stick to water colors; yours are quite remarkable."
"Aren't they? There's true burlesque, originality for you; the Calot
sort of thing. Do you notice that _Suzanna at the Bath_?"
"I thought it was a _Temptation of Saint Anthony_."
"Oh! that's because it isn't finished. And that little
_Hop-o'-my-Thumb_--what do you say to that?"
"I thought it was _Bluebeard_."
"That's because he has on his seven-league boots."
"Come, come, neighbor! You haven't got into your breeches yet!"
"Ah! they're a delicate part of the costume, you know."
"But nothing but long trousers are worn now, even at balls."
"When a fellow has, as I have, a fine leg and a calf fit for a model, he
isn't sorry to show them.--Would you like to read my last verses, on the
Marquise Désormeaux's favorite dog?"
"No, thanks, much obliged!"
"They have made quite a sensation. All the ladies are saying, in a
joking way, that they must have me to write their husbands' epitaphs.
The beginning is rather fine:
"'O dog of nature, faithful animal!'"
"I've heard of a man of nature; but I confess that this is the first
time I ever knew the epithet to be applied to a beast. So you think, my
dear Raymond, that animals may be moral perverts, do you?"
"What's that! why, don't you see it every day? Look at the poor
creatures that have to dance and bow and caper and jump through rings to
the notes of the flageolet! They have received an education. The
marchioness's dog did everything she wanted him to; he snapped at
everybody who went near his mistress, and he jumped on the table during
dinner to eat out of the plates and dishes. That's the natural instinct,
and I maintain that 'dog of nature' is a very happy expression."
"Come, come, Monsieur Raymond; drop your _dog_ and finish dressing. If
you spend so much time over every part of your costume, we shall not
arrive before midnight."
"I am at your service. I have got on my boots and breeches; but it seems
to me there's a crease on the left-hand side behind."
"When you have your coat on, nobody will see it."
"True; but in walking or dancing, the coat tails spread."
"Well! what does this crease amount to? do you think that the company is
going to keep its eye on your rump?"
"I tell you, a crease may make a great difference in a man's looks;
women notice everything."
"The woman who takes any notice of such things must have her hands full
at a large party!"
"It sets better now. Ah! my cravat."
"That will be a long job."
"Oh, no! I have made a study of that article of dress, and it goes all
alone now. There! that's it. Ought I to turn the ends up or down?"
"Turn them either way you choose; but try to make up your mind."
"Well, I'll pull 'em out straight. What do you think of that knot?"
"Beautiful! you are stunning!"
"_Stunning_ is too strong a word; but I think that I look rather well;
I've just got three pins to put in."
"Great God! we shan't get started at eight o'clock!"
"The devil! this is terribly embarrassing; I ought to have thought about
it sooner."
"What's the matter? have you another engagement?"
"I don't know whether I ought to put this turquoise above or below my
emerald."
"Morbleu! Monsieur Raymond, my patience is exhausted; I am going to
start without you."
"Here I am! here I am, neighbor! Faith! I have put the turquoise above,
no matter what happens."
"That's very fortunate."
"Now, the coat--the hat--the gloves--and I'm all ready, you see."
"Amazing! Let's be off."
"All right. Oh! I beg your pardon: I forgot a scented handkerchief."
We left the room at last. When Raymond had closed his door, he
discovered that he had not put his diamond ring on his little finger, so
he went back to repair that omission. We went downstairs; but on the
second landing, he failed to find his opera in his pocket, and went back
for that. When we arrived in the courtyard, he remembered that he had
not brought his favorite songs; and as he might be asked to sing, I must
wait while he went to fetch them. I registered a vow never to travel
again with Monsieur Raymond. At last, about a quarter past eight, we
entered the cabriolet; then he discovered that he had not his eyeglass;
but I was inexorable: I lashed the horse and we started. It was dark, so
that Raymond could not read me his opera; but to make up to me for the
deprivation, he proposed to tell me the plot. For more than an hour he
prosed away about a Spanish princess and an Arabian prince, her lover,
while I thought of Madame de Marsan, whom I was not at all sorry to see
again, and whom I was surprised that I had neglected so long. When we
reached Saint-Denis it was half-past nine; and I swore at Raymond, whose
dilatoriness and absurd affectations would make us arrive at Madame de
Marsan's unconscionably late.
"Have we much farther to go?" I asked my neighbor, as we left
Saint-Denis behind.
"Why, no; about three-fourths of a league only.--I was saying that my
princess, having been rescued from the burning palace, swoons at the end
of the second act.----"
"You know the way, don't you?"
"Yes, yes; drive on, I'll show you.--When the curtain rises for the
third act, the princess is in her lover's camp, lying on a cannon.----"
"Have you been to this country house before?"
"Once; but that's enough for me; I have such an accurate memory!--The
soldiers are resting on their pikes--or their muskets, for I am not
quite sure whether pikes were in use under King Ferdinand; but it makes
no difference. The prince, having no desire to sleep----"
"I should say that we were told to go to the left."
"No, no! straight ahead!--The prince, I say, is on his knees before the
princess, who is still unconscious; and he sings her a superb air,
_adagio_ in _D_ minor, to restore her.--I wrote the music, too. Can't
you see the tableau in your mind's eye?"
"I see that if you don't drop your _prince_ and _princess_ soon, we
shall be in Montmorency, and that certainly isn't on our road. I'm too
good-natured, to sit here and listen to your nonsense. Here--as you are
so certain we're on the right road, just take the reins and drive."
"Oh! I ask nothing better; I'll stake my head that we're not two hundred
yards from Madame de Marsan's."
"But I don't see any light."
"Because it's too dark a night.--This infernal horse has a mouth like
iron."
"You worry him too much."
"Ah! I see something.--Where are we, my man?"
"Montmorency, monsieur," replied our groom.
"Well! Monsieur Raymond, you want to see everything; you're a very
clever man!"
"Don't be angry, my dear Dorsan; we'll take this road to the left; I
remember now that it leads straight to Madame de Marsan's."
"I think we should do as well to return to Paris; it looks like a
storm."
"What's the odds? then they'll have the party in the house."
"The party! Parbleu! we may be there by eleven o'clock!"
"We shall be there at ten; I must whip this infernal beast."
"Oh! I am beginning to be resigned; I am going to make the best of it."
"They are longing for us to come, I am sure!--Go on, you villain, go
on!"
"Say rather that they have forgotten all about us."
"Oh! men like us aren't so easily forgotten.--Go on, you wretched nag!"
"Look out! you're whipping him too hard; he's running away now."
"Mon Dieu! that's so; he's got the bit in his teeth!"
"Hold him in! jerk the reins!"
"I can't hold him, my friend; I am pulling as hard as I can. Mon Dieu!
he's turning into the fields; we are lost!"
"Oh! don't be frightened; he'll stop.--Get down, boy, and see if you can
stop him."
Our groom had already alighted, but he did not follow us, which made me
think that he was hurt. Our steed galloped on, across fields and plowed
lands and lanes. I took the reins from my companion, who was no longer
in a condition to see anything, but trembled in every limb and shouted
for help at the top of his voice. To put the finishing touch to our
misfortunes, the storm broke with great violence: the clouds burst, the
rain fell in torrents, and the wind blew with hurricane force in our
faces. Our horse did not stop; I began to apprehend some serious
accident; we were on a very steep hillside, and I expected every moment
to be overturned with the carriage. Luckily, our frantic animal's path
was blocked by a mass of vines; he stopped short, but in struggling to
extricate himself from the labyrinth of branches in which he was
entangled he plunged about with such violence that he finally threw us
out and fell with us.
"I am dead!" cried Raymond, as he fell. Before making sure of that fact,
I tried to cut my way out of my prison, for the front of the cabriolet
was blocked by vine poles. I succeeded at last in getting out. I was not
hurt, not even a bruise. I thought myself very lucky to escape with
nothing worse than a fright. Since it was written that I should not
attend Madame de Marsan's entertainment, I made the best of it and
decided to endure as philosophically as possible the further
misadventures into which Raymond was sure to lead me. I went to inquire
into my companion's condition. He was groaning pitifully; was he really
hurt? If so, that would make our plight decidedly serious. I walked up
to Raymond, who had fallen half out of the cabriolet, with his face
against the ground. I shook his arm, and succeeded, not without
difficulty, in making him raise his head. The rain had already formed
pools, and the plowed earth had stuck to Raymond's face. He told me in a
feeble voice that he could hardly see.
"That's nothing; turn your face toward the sky, and I'll answer for it
that the rain will very soon wash off the mud that covers your eyes."
"You are right, my dear friend; I am well washed now, and I begin to see
more distinctly. Ah! I breathe again!"
"Are you really hurt?"
"Wait till I feel myself; I'm sore all over, but I believe that I
haven't any serious wound."
"That's very fortunate!"
"Ah! my friend! what a terrible accident!"
"Whose fault is it?"
"Look you--I lashed the horse, because you were in a hurry to get
there."
"I advise you to put your crazy performances on my back!"
"Here we are in a pretty plight! and the rain coming down in sheets! It
seems as if everything was in a conspiracy against us. Look! I even
smashed my hat when I fell."
"Parbleu! what do I care for your hat!"
"Look you, perhaps you care for my head, which is entirely unprotected.
I am wet through, covered with mud, battered and crushed. What a cold I
shall have! And my clothes! It was well worth while to dress! Open-work
stockings; and see, there's my shirt frill on that pole. Mon Dieu! it
wouldn't take much to knock me over!"
"Come, come, Raymond! damnation! be a man! You're worse than a baby. We
must get out of this somehow."
"Where's our groom?"
"I'm afraid the poor devil hurt himself when he jumped down, and I
should be very much at a loss to know where to look for him."
"If we could raise the carriage!"
"But one wheel came off when it went over."
"The devil himself took a hand in the job."
"I'm afraid the horse has hurt himself on these poles.--This pleasure
party is like to cost us dear, neighbor."
"Oh! you're very lucky to be able to take it so calmly! For my part, I
am crushed and furious at the same time!"
"Come with me; let's try to find a house, some place of shelter at
least; but let us notice carefully what direction we take. Are you
coming?"
"Wait a minute, till I make a cap of my handkerchief, to protect me a
little."
We left the vineyard. I was obliged to take Raymond by the arm to get
him to move along; he was trembling so that he was afraid of falling at
every step. We walked for some ten minutes, constantly floundering in
holes filled with water, which it was too dark for us to see. I swore
and Raymond whined, anticipating an attack of pneumonia. At last we
discovered a little cottage, and the light that shone through the
windows indicated that the occupants were not in bed; for peasants are
not in the habit of keeping candles lighted while they are asleep.
"We are saved!" cried Raymond; and he recovered the use of his legs to
run toward the house. But I held him back, fearing that he would
announce our presence in such a way as to prevent our being admitted. I
myself knocked at the door of the cottage.
Peasants are rarely distrustful; the occupants of the cottage, being
very poor, had no fear of thieves. They opened the door, and I saw a
peasant woman in a large living room, surrounded by half a dozen
children. I explained our mishap, while Raymond, who had already entered
the room, peered into a great kettle to see what the peasants had for
supper, then came back to me and informed me that we shouldn't find much
of anything in that house.
"What can I do for you, messieurs?" said the peasant, as she watched
Raymond prying into every corner.
"Are we far from Montmorency?"
"No; a fourth of a league at most."
"We don't know the roads about here; be good enough to let us have your
biggest boy for a guide; we will pay you."
As I spoke, I gave the woman three francs, which instantly disposed her
to make herself useful to us.
"That's easy enough," she said; "Julien, go with these gentlemen.--If
you're tired, I can let you have some donkeys."
"We shall be very glad of them, for, first of all, we must find our
groom, who must be somewhere in the neighborhood; and then we will try
to rescue our horse, for he ought not to pass the night in the fields."
"Come, Julien, get the donkeys out of the stable.--I ought to tell you
that there's no saddles for 'em."
"No matter; they will be very useful to us all the same."
The donkeys were produced, and I paid on the spot for their hire; I took
a third one, for our groom, whom I hoped to find. Raymond hesitated a
long while before mounting his beast; he wanted saddle, stirrups, and
pads; he claimed to be able to ride like Franconi, but he could not sit
on a donkey. Tired to death by all his lamentations, I started off with
the young peasant, who rode the third donkey, and set out to find the
groom. Raymond, seeing that I had ceased to listen to him, decided to
follow me, clinging with one hand to the tail and with the other to the
mane of his steed. He urged the poor beast along in my wake, and we were
in the fields once more.
I let my donkey take his own course. I called the groom at the top of my
lungs, and my companions did the same. At last someone answered us; we
rode in the direction of the voice and found our young man lying on the
ground, under a tree. The poor devil had sprained his foot and could not
walk. I put him on the peasant's donkey. It only remained for us to
unharness our horse, whom we found on the ground beside the cabriolet.
The rain had allayed the poor beast's ardor, and he finally allowed us
to raise him to his feet. Our guide assured us that he was uninjured; he
mounted him, took his place at our head, and the cavalcade set out for
Montmorency.
All these details had taken time. It was after half-past eleven when we
left our little carriage, which I commended to the young peasant's care;
he promised to fetch a blacksmith to mend it at daybreak. We could have
gone much faster but for Raymond; he compelled us to stop every few
yards; his donkey refused to go, or else insisted on turning into
another road; and he uttered heartrending cries when we did not wait for
him. Luckily, the rain had ceased and it was a little less dark, so
that we could see where we were going.
At midnight we caught sight of the first houses in Montmorency. Raymond
gave a joyful cry, whereat his donkey was frightened and jumped,
throwing its rider off into a muddy path, where he lost his shoes. As we
were a little ahead, Raymond was obliged to pick himself up unassisted;
the fear of losing us lent him strength, but his steed did not wait for
him, and he ended his journey running after the beast, which he caught
on the square just as we were dismounting. All the people of the inn had
gone to bed, but we knocked until they answered. They were surprised
that travellers should arrive so late; they would be far more surprised,
I thought, when they saw the condition we were in, especially Raymond,
whose last fall had plastered him with mud from head to foot. They
admitted us, however, but, as I had foreseen, they were taken aback by
our appearance. But I soon succeeded in telling my story. The landlord,
seeing that he had to do with people of standing, apologized to us and
hastened to show us to our rooms. They gave a room to our groom; the
horse was taken to the stable, and the peasant went home with his
donkeys.
I ordered a brisk fire made, to dry our clothes, and requested the host
to serve whatever he had ready, for our misadventures had not taken away
our appetites. We were served with a chicken, ham, salad, and fruit.
While I took my place at the table, Raymond went into his bedroom, where
he ordered another fire lighted, and asked the girl who waited on us to
come to rub his back, so that he might avoid an illness. She was a
robust peasant of some twenty years, not of the type to be afraid of a
man. Still, Raymond's proposition struck her as rather peculiar; she
looked at him with a smile and seemed to hesitate.
"Go with him," I said to her, "and don't be afraid; monsieur is thinking
of nothing but his health, and I'll answer for his behavior."
While my companion was being rubbed, I did justice to the supper, and
dried myself thoroughly in front of the fire. The bedroom door was not
closed, and I could hear Raymond urging the servant on and complimenting
her on her skill. The buxom damsel must have been tired, she had rubbed
him so long, but Raymond seemed to enjoy it. Soon I concluded that the
fire and the servant's ministrations had entirely restored my friend's
animation, for he began to be enterprising, and I heard the girl exclaim
that she would not stand it. And I had answered for his behavior! How
can you trust anyone?
But the noise continued in the adjoining room; and at last the girl fled
into the room where I was, roaring with laughter, and pursued by
Monsieur Raymond in shirt and drawers and a pair of the innkeeper's
slippers.
"Won't you keep quiet the rest of the night, Monsieur Raymond? Am I to
have no peace with you?" said I.
"Oh! what eyes, my friend! Ah! the hussy, if she would!"
"Yes, but the trouble is I won't, Monsieur Insolent!"
"Come, Raymond, let the girl go to bed; it's late and this is no time to
rouse the whole inn. I've no desire to get into any more trouble for
your lovely eyes.--Leave us, my girl! we don't want anything more."
"I say, my dear, where's your room; do tell me where it is?"
"What business is it of yours?"
"Tell me, all the same, you sly minx, and you won't be sorry."
"Well, I sleep upstairs, at the end of the hall."
"Good; I understand."
The servant left us, and Raymond sat down at the table.
"I trust," said I, "that you don't propose to run after that girl? She's
fooling you."
"No, no! I was joking, that's all. She's as solid as a rock!"
"She ought to know whether you are or not, for she rubbed you long
enough."
"Yes, indeed; the hussy knows!"
"It doesn't seem to have disposed her in your favor."
"Bah! didn't she tell me where her room was?"
"Don't you trust her."
"Oh! I've no desire to go after her, as you can imagine; but, one thing
is sure, and that is, that if I chose, I should have everything my own
way."
"I don't believe it."
"Do you want to bet?"
"No; because you would indulge in some pleasant little performance which
would make my night as agreeable as my evening has been; and I confess
that I've had enough of that sort of thing for to-day. Good-night,
Monsieur Raymond! I am going to bed, and I advise you to do the same."
"Yes, neighbor, yes, I'll do the same. Sleep well. Your servant!"
Raymond took his candle with an offended air and went to his room,
locking the door behind him. I laughed at the crazy fellow's pretensions
and folly, and got into bed, where I soon fell asleep. A noise, the
nature of which I could not determine, soon woke me. I listened, and
called to Raymond, to find out if he were ill; he did not answer, and I
heard nothing more, so I went to sleep again. I did not wake until eight
o'clock; the sun was shining brightly into my room, indicating a lovely
day. As I was at Montmorency, although against my will, I would at all
events enjoy the delightful walks in the neighborhood and have a taste
of the pleasures of the country before returning to Paris. Our cabriolet
could not be repaired as yet, and we should have to wait for it.
While I was dressing, I called to Raymond and asked him if he wanted to
take a walk before breakfast. He did not answer; apparently he was still
asleep. But his door was ajar, and I seemed to remember that he had
closed it the night before. I entered, and called him again:
"Come, come, lazybones! it's late; wake up!"
No answer. I looked at his bed: he was not there. So he had risen
earlier than I and gone out before me. I was turning away, when I saw
Raymond's coat, waistcoat, and breeches spread out on chairs, where he
had put them to dry. What! he had gone out without coat or breeches?
that was very strange! Thereupon, I remembered my neighbor's schemes,
his dallying with the servant, and the wager he proposed when he was
eating his supper. My uncertainty was at an end: Monsieur Raymond had
set out to prove to me that he was not to be resisted; he had gone to
lie with the stout damsel who had wiped him and rubbed him so
thoroughly. But inn servants do not stay in bed until eight o'clock; the
girl must have been up long before. Why had Raymond not returned to his
bed? Did he want the whole household to know where he had passed the
night? I did not see the point of that very clearly; however, I
determined to ascertain the fact. I called and rang; the same servant
appeared; her aspect was unchanged; she had a smile on her lips, her big
eyes were wide open, and her manner alert and determined. She had
anything but a bashful air; I supposed that she was probably accustomed
to nocturnal visits. I looked at her and laughed.
"Did you call, monsieur?"
"Yes, my child."
"What can I do for you?"
"How is our groom?"
"Oh! he's all right, monsieur; they've put a compress on his foot."
"And the carriage?"
"That don't amount to much--only a matter of a couple of hours. But the
man who owns the vineyard where you upset followed after the blacksmith;
he wants his pay for the damage you did on his land; he says you pulled
up more'n a dozen vines."
"Good! we have got to pay him because we nearly killed ourselves on his
poles; let him have a hundred sous.--By the way, my lass, tell me now
what you've done with my friend?"
"With your friend?"
"Yes; the gentleman who came with me."
"Oh! the man that lost his shoes, and that I had to rub so long!"
"Exactly."
"Pardi! I haven't done anything with him, and I wouldn't have anything
to do with him, although he was after me like a thirsty dog! Mon Dieu!
what a fellow!"
"It's no use to pretend, my dear; he slept with you; I don't see any
harm in that, but where in the devil is he now?"
"What's that you say? he slept with me? Bless my soul! that's a good
one! It's a lie, d'ye hear! I don't sleep with anybody that don't suit
me, and your big baby didn't suit me at all. Has he got the face to say
that? Ah! I'd tear his eyes out if I heard him!"
"It seems to me that when you tell him where your room is, you shouldn't
make so much noise because of what I've said to you."
"My room! I told him where my room was! Good Lord! do you mean to tell
me---- Ha! ha! ha!"
The servant, who had turned purple with wrath, suddenly began to roar
with laughter. I waited a long while for that outburst of merriment to
cease; the buxom creature held her sides, and was obliged to sit down
before she could speak. She recovered herself at last.
"Let me tell you, monsieur, that the door I mentioned to your friend
ain't the door to my room at all, but it leads into a big room like a
loft, where there's a lot of sun and it's always dry as a bone; that's
why the master picked it out to keep the fruits he's going to preserve,
such as pears and apples and grapes; and then provisions, such as bacon
and ham and sausages!"
"Whatever you choose; but I suppose he keeps the room locked?"
"Yes, monsieur; but, for all that, he swore that things kept being
stolen; and for the last few days, I don't know whether it's to catch
the thieves or not, but I've noticed that the door was only latched."
"And that is where you sent my companion?"
"Yes, monsieur."
"I don't see what he can have been doing there all night. But he must be
somewhere. Come, my girl, take me to your storeroom."
"I'll go and get the master, because we ain't allowed to go there."
"I don't care for the prohibition; I must find my companion, who can't
have gone to visit the Hermitage or to walk in the valley, in his shirt
and drawers."
"That's so; it ain't the custom."
Paying no heed to the servant, who went to tell her master, I left my
room, ascended the stairs, and walked through a long corridor, at the
end of which I saw a door. It was at some distance from the inhabited
portion of the house; and I could understand that Raymond might easily
have called without making himself heard. But why had he remained there?
That is what I was determined to know. I pushed the door, which was not
locked, and saw Raymond with one leg in a trap, sitting upon a pile of
hams, where he had fallen asleep.
My arrival made him open his eyes. He held out his arms with an
expression which I cannot describe.
"Ah! my friend! my savior! set me free, I implore you!"
"What in the devil are you doing here?"
"I am caught like a rat in a trap, as you see; I can't budge. I've been
here since one o'clock this morning; I shouted and called, but no one
came, and I had to make the best of it. When I found that no one heard
me, I sat down on the first thing I could find, and at last I fell
asleep; but I ache in every limb. I shan't forget Montmorency!"
I was sorely tempted to laugh, but Raymond's long face aroused my pity.
I was trying to release him from the trap, but to no purpose, when our
host arrived with the servant. At sight of the latter, my poor companion
made a horrible face, while the girl laughed till she cried.
"Aha! morgué! so I have caught my thief!" said the landlord, as soon as
he caught sight of Raymond; but when he came nearer, he was greatly
surprised to recognize the guest to whom he had lent his slippers.
Raymond told a not improbable story of a trifling indisposition which
surprised him in the night and compelled him to seek a certain place
which he thought was upstairs; and in that way he had fallen into the
trap set in the storeroom.
Our host apologized profusely. He alone knew the secret of the trap, and
he hastened to release my companion. Raymond went to his room to dress;
but he was in a savage humor and did not care to inspect the outskirts
of Montmorency. He was afraid that the night he had passed on the hams,
in his shirt, would give him the rheumatism, and he longed for the
moment when we might start for Paris. I might have joked my neighbor on
the hard luck that pursued him in his _bonnes fortunes_, but I was
considerate and held my peace. I left him to rub his own shoulders,
legs, and posteriors; and, after breakfasting, sallied forth alone to
visit those delightful spots which Grétry and Jean-Jacques still adorn;
for men of genius never wholly die. I will not describe scenes with
which the reader is as familiar as myself; I should teach him nothing,
and if I should make any blunders they would be detected; but if some
day I visit a distant and desert country, if I see some Gothic château
or some chapel tumbling to decay, I promise you a glowing description of
it; for then I shall be able to say whatever comes into my head, without
fear of contradiction.
Let us return to Raymond. He waited impatiently for my return from my
walk. The cabriolet was mended, the horse harnessed, and we were at
liberty to start. I helped in my two invalids, for Raymond was little
better off than the groom; he could hardly move. I took my seat between
them, and, after paying the innkeeper's account, which included the
slippers in which my companion returned to Paris, we started for the
capital, where we arrived without accident, because I did not allow
Monsieur Raymond to take the reins. On reaching our abode, we dismissed
the cabriolet and gave the groom something by way of compensation for
his sprained foot, which would keep him in the house a few days. I paid
everything and presented to my companion a statement of our expenses
overnight, as follows:
_F. C._
For the cabriolet, which we kept one day longer than
we intended 30 00
For the peasant woman and her son, who acted as our
guide and helped us to pick up our horse 6 00