am of a noble blaze within your house; doubtless the spit is in
place, and your hearts and your stomachs are rejoicing together. Open,
then, to poor pilgrims, who will die at your door if you do not have
mercy on them.

THE HEMP-BEATER.

Aha! you are pilgrims? you did not tell us that. From what pilgrimage
are you returning, by your leave?

THE GRAVE-DIGGER.

We will tell you that when you have opened the door, for we come from so
far away that you would not believe it.

THE HEMP-BEATER.

Open the door to you? indeed! we should not dare trust you. Let us see:
are you from Saint-Sylvain de Pouligny?

THE GRAVE-DIGGER.

We have been to Saint-Sylvain de Pouligny, but we have been farther than
that.

THE HEMP-BEATER.

Then you have been as far as Sainte-Solange?

THE GRAVE-DIGGER.

We have been to Sainte-Solange, for sure; but we have been farther
still.

THE HEMP-BEATER.

You lie; you have never been as far as Sainte-Solange.

THE GRAVE-DIGGER.

We have been farther, for we have just returned from Saint-Jacques de
Compostelle.

THE HEMP-BEATER.

What foolish tale are you telling us? We don't know that parish. We see
plainly enough that you are bad men, brigands, _nobodies_, liars. Go
somewhere else and sing your silly songs; we are on our guard, and you
won't get in here.

THE GRAVE-DIGGER.

Alas! my dear man, have pity on us! We are not pilgrims, as you have
rightly guessed; but we are unfortunate poachers pursued by the keepers.
The gendarmes are after us, too, and, if you don't let us hide in your
hay-loft, we shall be caught and taken to prison.

THE HEMP-BEATER.

But what proof have we this time that you are what you say? for here is
one falsehood already that you could not follow up.

THE GRAVE-DIGGER.

If you will open the door, we will show you a fine piece of game we have
killed.

THE HEMP-BEATER.

Show it now, for we are suspicious.

THE GRAVE-DIGGER.

Well, open a door or a window, so that we can pass in the creature.

THE HEMP-BEATER.

Oh! nay, nay! not such fools! I'm looking at you through a little hole,
and I see neither hunters nor game.

At that point, a drover's boy, a thick-set youth of herculean strength,
came forth from the group in which he had been standing unnoticed, and
held up toward the window a goose all plucked and impaled on a stout
iron spit, decorated with bunches of straw and ribbons.

"Hoity-toity!" cried the hem