ose precious time. Back to the inn,
harness the trap, and bring it to yon bank. Run for your life, and
remember--not one whisper. I stay here to watch.'

Jean-Marie did as he was bid, though not without surprise. The noddy was
brought round to the spot indicated; and the two gradually transported
the treasure from its place of concealment to the boot below the driving
seat. Once it was all stored the Doctor recovered his gaiety.

'I pay my grateful duties to the genius of this dell,' he said. 'O, for
a live coal, a heifer, and a jar of country wine! I am in the vein for
sacrifice, for a superb libation. Well, and why not? We are at
Franchard. English pale ale is to be had--not classical, indeed, but
excellent. Boy, we shall drink ale.'

'But I thought it was so unwholesome,' said Jean-Marie, 'and very dear
besides.'

'Fiddle-de-dee!' exclaimed the Doctor gaily. 'To the inn!'

And he stepped into the noddy, tossing his head, with an elastic,
youthful air. The horse was turned, and in a few seconds they drew up
beside the palings of the inn garden.

'Here,' said Desprez--'here, near the table, so that we may keep an eye
upon things.'

They tied the horse, and entered the garden, the Doctor singing, now in
fantastic high notes, now producing deep reverberations from his chest.
He took a seat, rapped loudly on the table, assailed the waiter with
witticisms; and when the bottle of Bass was at length produced, far more
charged with gas than the most delirious champagne, he filled out a long
glassful of froth and pushed it over to Jean-Marie. 'Drink,' he said;
'drink deep.'

'I would rather not,' faltered the boy, true to his training.

'What?' thundered Desprez.

'I am afraid of it,' said Jean-Marie: 'my stomach--'

'Take it or leave it,' interrupted Desprez fiercely; 'but understand it
once for all--there is nothing so contemptible as a precisian.'

Here was a new lesson! The boy sat bemused, looking at the glass but not
tasting it, while the Doctor emptied and refilled his own, at first with
clouded brow, but gradually yielding to the sun, the heady, prickling
beverage, and his own predisposition to be happy.

'Once in a way,' he said at last, by way of a concession to the boy's
more rigorous attitude, 'once in a way, and at so critical a moment, this
ale is a nectar for the gods. The habit, indeed, is debasing; wine, the
juice of the grape, is the true drink of the Frenchman, as I have often