ays and tones. The baron imitated
the husband and Jeanne the wife, and the baroness, feeling a little hurt
in her reverence for the aristocracy, said to them:

"You should not joke in that way. I'm sure the Brisevilles are very
well-bred people, and they belong to excellent families."

They stopped laughing for a time, out of respect for the baroness's
feelings, but every now and then Jeanne would catch her father's eye,
and then they began again. The baron would make a very stiff bow, and
say in a solemn voice:

"Your chateau at Les Peuples must be very cold, madame, with the
sea-breeze blowing on it all day long."

Then Jeanne put on a very prim look, and said with a smirk, moving her
head all the time like a duck on the water:

"Oh, monsieur, I have plenty to fill up my time. You see we have so many
relations to whom letters must be written, and M. de Briseville leaves
all correspondence to me, as his time is taken up with the religious
history of Normandy that he is writing in collaboration with the Abbe
Pelle."

The baroness could not help smiling, but she repeated, in a half-vexed,
half-amused tone:

"It isn't right to laugh at people of our own rank like that."

All at once the carriage came to a standstill, and Julien called out to
someone on the road behind; Jeanne and the baron leant out of the
windows, and saw some singular creature rolling, rather than running,
towards them. Hindered by the floating skirts of his coat, unable to see
for his hat, which kept slipping over his eyes, his sleeves waving like
the sails of a windmill, splashing through the puddles, stumbling over
every large stone in his way, hastening, jumping, covered with mud,
Marius was running after the carriage as fast as his legs could carry
him. As soon as he came up Julien leant down, caught hold of him by the
coat collar, and lifted him up on the box seat; then, dropping the
reins, he began to pommel the boy's hat, which at once slipped down to
his shoulders. Inside the hat, which sounded as if it had been a drum,
Marius yelled at the top of his voice, but it was in vain that he
struggled and tried to jump down, for his master held him firmly with
one hand while he beat him with the other.

"Papa! oh, papa!" gasped Jeanne; and the baroness, filled with
indignation, seized her husband's arm, and exclaimed: "Stop him,
Jacques, stop him!" The baron suddenly let down the front window, and,
catching hold of the vicomte's sleeve: