n some private Babel would break in like a surge, over the general
noise, and attract attention for an instant.

"The auto-da-fe--alas, it recalls me the ravishing country of Spain! O
those Sierras!--those Vegas! the mountains shirting with snow! the green
plains watered!--but misere! hot as--the disposition of the Cure.
To-day, gentlemen, the affair becomes serious, for lo, the approach of a
doubtful election, and a trifle of clerical interference, like a seed
upon the balance, might well--" the sentence was appendixed by an
explosive shrug.

"Now, the Council of war! we must have a command to him from the Bishop;
and it is I, Zotique Genest, as prominent citizen! as Registrar! as
_Zouave_! who will write and get it."

"But more--that sacre Grandmoulin is coming, and we must receive him at
point of bayonet, _a la charge de cuirasse_! that sacre Grandmoulin!"

"He will be received!" called out a voice.

"The National Liar!" proposed another.

"The breach in our wall is the Cure," continued Zotique.

"Mais."

Qu'allons nous faire,
Dans cette gallere?

"If we could only strap him up with, every mark of respect, like the
sacred white elephant of the Indies!--But first, the Bishop's order!
Remark my brother, I am not advocating disobedience:--only coercion."

The laugh rose again. It was not so much anything he said, but his
extraordinarily grotesque ways--a roll of his large eyes, or a drawing
down of his long, thin mouth, with some quick action of the head, arms
or shoulders, that amused them.

"Me, I say _sacre_ to the Cures," boasted a heavy, bleared fellow,
stepping forward and looking round. His appearance indicated the class
of parodies on the American citizen, known vulgarly as "Yankees from
Longueuil," and as he continued, "I say to them,"--he added a string of
blasphemy in exaggerated Vermontese.

"Be moderate, Mr. Cuiller," Zotique interposed, "None of us have the
honor of being ruffians."

"In the Unyted Staytes," continued Cuiller, however, jerking his heavy
shoulder forward, "when a cure comes to them they say 'Go on, cursed
rascal,'" More oaths in English. The hearers looked on without knowing
how to act, some of them, without doubt, in that atmosphere, tremblingly
admiring his hardihood.

"Cuiller,"--commenced the Honorable, easily.

"My name is Spoon," the Yankee from Longueuil drawled, "I've got a white
man's name."

Cuiller, in fact, was of the host who have Anglicised their pat