tic offices suitable for the needs of the family.
My mother, holding a respected place in my household, lives with us in
the most perfect family union. My wife (_nee_ de Champfleurie) is
everything that is calculated to render a household happy; but, alas one
only of our two children survives to bless us. I have thought these
details of my private circumstances necessary, to explain the following
narrative; to which I will also add, by way of introduction, a simple
sketch of the town itself and its general conditions before these
remarkable events occurred.

It was on a summer evening about sunset, the middle of the month of
June, that my attention was attracted by an incident of no importance
which occurred in the street, when I was making my way home, after an
inspection of the young vines in my new vineyard to the left of La
Clairiere. All were in perfectly good condition, and none of the many
signs which point to the arrival of the insect were apparent. I had come
back in good spirits, thinking of the prosperity which I was happy to
believe I had merited by a conscientious performance of all my duties. I
had little with which to blame myself: not only my wife and relations,
but my dependants and neighbours, approved my conduct as a man; and even
my fellow-citizens, exacting as they are, had confirmed in my favour the
good opinion which my family had been fortunate enough to secure from
father to son. These thoughts were in my mind as I turned the corner of
the Grande Rue and approached my own house. At this moment the tinkle of
a little bell warned all the bystanders of the procession which was
about to pass, carrying the rites of the Church to some dying person.
Some of the women, always devout, fell on their knees. I did not go so
far as this, for I do not pretend, in these days of progress, to have
retained the same attitude of mind as that which it is no doubt becoming
to behold in the more devout sex; but I stood respectfully out of the
way, and took off my hat, as good breeding alone, if nothing else,
demanded of me. Just in front of me, however, was Jacques Richard,
always a troublesome individual, standing doggedly, with his hat upon
his head and his hands in his pockets, straight in the path of M. le
Cure. There is not in all France a more obstinate fellow. He stood
there, notwithstanding the efforts of a good woman to draw him away, and
though I myself called to him. M. le Cure is not the man to flinch; and