d very much like horsedealers, the surly driver slammed the
door, and the station-master politely bowed us away.

The curtain dropped upon Act I.; Comedy or Tragedy as the event might
prove.

It soon threatened to be Tragedy. The omnibus tore down a steep hill as
if the horses as well as the driver had been indulging, swayed from side
to side and seemed every moment about to overturn. Now the passengers
were all thrown to the right of the vehicle, now to the left, and now
they all collided in the centre. The enraged driver was having his
revenge upon us, and we repented our boldness in trusting our lives in
his hands. But the sturdy Bretons accepted the situation so calmly that
we felt there must still be a chance of escape.

So it proved. In due time it drew up at the Hotel d'Europe with the
noise of an artillery waggon, and out came M. Hellard, the landlord. His
appearance, with his white hair and benevolent face, was sufficient to
recommend him, to begin with. We felt we had done wisely, and made known
our wants.

"I am very sorry," he replied, "but, gentlemen, I am quite full. There
is not a vacant room in the hotel from roof to basement."

"Put us anywhere," we persisted, for it would never do to be beaten at
last: "the coal-cellar; a couple of cupboards; anything; but don't send
us away."

The landlord looked puzzled. He had a tall, fine presence and a handsome
face; not in the least like a Frenchman. "I assure you that I have
neither hole nor corner nor cupboard at your disposal," he declared. "I
have sent away a dozen people in the last hour who arrived by the last
train. Why did you not send me word you were coming?"

"We are only two, not a dozen," we urged. "And we knew nothing of this
terrible Fair, or we should not have come at all. But as we are here,
here we must remain."

With that we left the omnibus and went into the hall, enjoying the
landlord's perplexed attitude. But when did a case of this sort ever
fail to yield to persuasion? The last resource has very seldom been
reached, however much we may think it; and an emergency begets its own
remedy. The remedy in this instance was the landlady. Out she came at
the moment from her bureau, all gestures and possibilities; we felt
saved.

"Mon cher," she exclaimed--not to H.C., but to her spouse--"don't send
the gentlemen away at this time of night, and consign them to you know
not what fate. Something can be managed. _Tenez_!" with uplifted hands