the gentle slopes of a bank washed
by the Seine, the houses of Orcival are white, and there are
delicious shades, and a bell-tower which is the pride of the place.
On all sides vast pleasure domains, kept up at great cost, surround
it. From the upper part, the weathercocks of twenty chateaux may
be seen. On the right is the forest of Mauprevoir, and the pretty
country-house of the Countess de la Breche; opposite, on the other
side of the river, is Mousseaux and Petit-Bourg, the ancient domain
of Aguado, now the property of a famous coach-maker; on the left,
those beautiful copses belong to the Count de Tremorel, that large
park is d'Etiolles, and in the distance beyond is Corbeil; that vast
building, whose roofs are higher than the oaks, is the Darblay mill.

The mayor of Orcival occupies a handsome, pleasant mansion, at the
upper end of the village. Formerly a manufacturer of dry goods, M.
Courtois entered business without a penny, and after thirty years
of absorbing toil, he retired with four round millions of francs.

Then he proposed to live tranquilly with his wife and children,
passing the winter at Paris and the summer at his country-house.

But all of a sudden he was observed to be disturbed and agitated.
Ambition stirred his heart. He took vigorous measures to be
forced to accept the mayoralty of Orcival. And he accepted it,
quite in self-defence, as he will himself tell you. This office
was at once his happiness and his despair; apparent despair,
interior and real happiness.

It quite befits him, with clouded brow, to rail at the cares of
power; he appears yet better when, his waist encircled with the
gold-laced scarf, he goes in triumph at the head of the municipal
body.

Everybody was sound asleep at the mayor's when the two Bertauds
rapped the heavy knocker of the door. After a moment, a servant,
half asleep, appeared at one of the ground-floor windows.

"What's the matter, you rascals?" asked he, growling.

Jean did not think it best to revenge an insult which his
reputation in the village too well justified.

"We want to speak to Monsieur the Mayor," he answered. "There is
terrible need of it. Go call him, Monsieur Baptiste; he won't
blame you."

"I'd like to see anybody blame me," snapped out Baptiste.

It took ten minutes of talking and explaining to persuade the
servant. Finally, the Bertauds were admitted to a little man, fat
and red, very much annoyed at being dragged from his bed so ea