me to spare him. Seeing
that La Font was tickled with the idea, and that the servants were
a-grin, and the more eager to trick others as they had just been
tricked themselves, I was tempted to consent.

After this, the preparations took not a minute. Philibert covered his
fool's clothes with a cloak, and their table was drawn nearer to the
fire, so as, with mine, to take up the whole hearth. La Trape fell
into an attitude behind me; and the Breton, adopting a refinement
suggested at the last moment, was sent out to intercept Grabot before
he entered, and tell him that the inn was full, and that he had better
pass on.

The knave did his business so well that Grabot, being just such a man
as the stroller had described to us, the altercation on the threshold
was of itself the most amusing thing in the world. "Who?" we heard a
loud, coarse voice exclaim. "Who d'ye say are here, man?"

"The Mayor of Bottitort."

"MILLE DIABLES!"

"The Mayor of Bottitort and the Mayors of Gol and St. Just," the
servant repeated as if he noticed nothing amiss.

"That is a lie!" the new comer replied, with a snort of triumph, "and
an impudent one. But you have got the wrong sow by the ear this time."

"Why, man," a third voice, somewhat nasal and rustical, struck in,
"don't you know the Mayor of Bottitort?"

"I should," my Breton answered bluntly, and making, as we guessed, a
stand before them. "For I am his servant, and he is this moment at his
meat."

"The Mayor of Bottitort?"

"Yes."

"M. Grabot?"

"Yes."

"And you are his servant?"

"I have thought so for some time," the Breton answered contemptuously.

The Mayor fairly roared in his indignation. "You--his servant! The
Mayor of Bottitort's?" he cried in a voice of thunder. "I'll tell you
what you are; you are a liar!--a liar, man, that is what you are! Why,
you fool, I am the Mayor of Bottitort myself. Now, do you see how you
have wasted yourself? Out of my way! Jehan, follow me in. I shall
look into this. There is some knavery here, but if Simon Grabot cannot
get to the bottom of it the Mayor of Bottitort will. Follow me, I say.
My servant indeed? Come, come!"

And, still grumbling, he flung open the door, which the Breton had left
ajar, and stalked in upon us, fuming and blowing out his cheeks for all
the world like a bantam cock with its feathers erect. He was a short,
pursy man; with a short nose, a wide face, and small eyes. But had he
been Ca