y, and speaking in French.

The individual who had come to the door in response to Sir Andrew's
knock, and who, presumably, was the owner of this squalid abode, was an
elderly, heavily built peasant, dressed in a dirty blue blouse, heavy
sabots, from which wisps of straw protruded all round, shabby blue
trousers, and the inevitable red cap with the tricolour cockade, that
proclaimed his momentary political views. He carried a short wooden
pipe, from which the odour of rank tobacco emanated. He looked with some
suspicion and a great deal of contempt at the two travellers, muttering
"SACRRRES ANGLAIS!" and spat upon the ground to further show his
independence of spirit, but, nevertheless, he stood aside to let them
enter, no doubt well aware that these same SACCRES ANGLAIS always had
well-filled purses.

"Oh, lud!" said Marguerite, as she advanced into the room, holding her
handkerchief to her dainty nose, "what a dreadful hole! Are you sure
this is the place?"

"Aye! 'this the place, sure enough," replied the young man as, with his
lace-edged, fashionable handkerchief, he dusted a chair for Marguerite
to sit on; "but I vow I never saw a more villainous hole."

"Faith!" she said, looking round with some curiosity and a great deal of
horror at the dilapidated walls, the broken chairs, the rickety table,
"it certainly does not look inviting."

The landlord of the "Chat Gris"--by name, Brogard--had taken no further
notice of his guests; he concluded that presently they would order
supper, and in the meanwhile it was not for a free citizen to show
deference, or even courtesy, to anyone, however smartly they might be
dressed.

By the hearth sat a huddled-up figure clad, seemingly, mostly in rags:
that figure was apparently a woman, although even that would have been
hard to distinguish, except for the cap, which had once been white,
and for what looked like the semblance of a petticoat. She was sitting
mumbling to herself, and from time to time stirring the brew in her
stock-pot.

"Hey, my friend!" said Sir Andrew at last, "we should like some supper.
. . . The citoyenne there," he added, "is concocting some delicious
soup, I'll warrant, and my mistress has not tasted food for several
hours."

It took Brogard some few minutes to consider the question. A free
citizen does not respond too readily to the wishes of those who happen
to require something of him.

"SACRRRES ARISTOS!" he murmured, and once more spat upon t