d may I ask, sir, who you are, whence you came, and where you
live?"

"I own property here, but I live at Paris, and what devils brought me
hither I don't know. I would have gone on further if the mud of your
roads hadn't stopped me. And now give me--comment s'appelle ca?" And
here he came to a stop because he could not find the word he wanted.

"Give you what, sir?"

"Comment s'appelle ca? Tell me the name!"

"My name, sir? Peter Bus."

"Diable! not your name, but the name of the thing I want."

"What _do_ you want, sir?"

"That thing that draws a coach, a four-legged thing; you strike it with
a whip."

"A horse, do you mean?"

"Pas donc! They don't call it that."

"A _forspont_?"[2]

[Footnote 2: Relay of horses: Ger. _Vorspann_.]

"That's it, that's it. A forspont! I want a forspont immediately."

"I have none, sir; all my horses are out to grass."

"C'est triste! Then here I'll remain. Tant mieux; it will not bore me. I
have travelled in Egypt and Morocco. I have spent the night in as
deplorable a hut as this before now; it will amuse me. I will fancy I am
in some Bedouin shanty, and this river here is the Nile, that has
overflowed, and these beasts that are croaking in the water--comment
s'appelle ca?--frogs? oh yes, of course--these frogs are the alligators
of the Nile. And this miserable country--what do you call this
department?"

"It is not a part of anything, sir; it is a dam, the dam of the
cross-roads, we call it."

"Fripon! I am not speaking of the mud in which I stuck fast, but of the
district all about here. What do they call it?"

"Oh, I see! They call it the county of Szabolcs."

"Szabolcs, eh? Szabolcs? C'est parceque, no doubt, so many _szabos_[3]
live in it, eh? Ha, ha! That was a good _calembourg_ of mine, c'est une
plaisanterie. Dost understand?"

[Footnote 3: Tailors.]

"I can't say for certain, but I believe the Hungarians so called it
after the name of one of their ancient leaders who led them out of
Asia."

"Ah, c'est beau! Very nice, I mean. The worthy magyars name their
departments after their ancient patriarchs. Touching, truly!"

"Then, may I ask to what nationality you yourself belong, sir?"

"I don't live here. Bon Dieu! what a terrible fate for any one to live
here, where the puddles are bottomless and a man can see nothing but
storks."

Peter Bus turned to leave the room; he was offended at being treated in
this manner.

"Come, come, don't run away wit