"It is a droll trade," said the _patronne_.

We were greasy and dirty, sunburnt to the colour of Egyptian felaheen
and dressed in the peasant's blue blouse. Creatures more unlike
professors of philosophy could not be conceived. But the _patronne_
seemed to be impressed--as who was not?--by Paragot.

"The rooms will be three francs, Monsieur," she said after a calculating
pause.

"I engage them," said my master. "Asticot, aid Madame to take our
luggage up to our bedchambers." I grasped my bundle and handed Paragot's
dilapidated canvas gripsack to the _patronne_. He arrested her.

"One moment, Madame. As you see, my portmanteau contains a shirt, a
pair of socks, a comb and a toothbrush. Also a copy of the works of the
divine vagrant Maitre Francois Villon, which I will take out at once. He
was a thief and a reprobate and got nearer hanged than any man who ever
lived, and he is the dearest friend I have."

"You have droll friends," remarked the _patronne_ continuing her litany.

"And to think that he died four hundred years ago," sighed my master.
"Isn't it strange, Madame, that all the bravest men and most beautiful
women are those that are dead?"

The landlady laughed. "You talk like a true Gascon, Monsieur. In this
country people are so silent that one loses the use of one's tongue."

I departed with her to see after domestic arrangements and when I
returned I found Paragot smoking his porcelain pipe, and talking to a
dusty child in charge of a goat. Having, at that period, a soul above
dusty children in charge of goats. I sprawled on the ground beside
Narcisse, and being tired by the day's tramp fell into a doze. The good
earth, when you have a casing of it already on clothes and person, is a
comfortable couch; but I think you must be in your teens to enjoy it.

I awoke to the sound of Paragot's voice talking to Narcisse. The goat
child had slipped away. An ox cart laden with hay lumbered past. The
mellowness of late afternoon lay over the land. The shadow cast by the
little white cafe had deepened gradually far beyond the table. From
within the house came the faint clatter of footsteps and cooking
utensils. Paragot was still smoking. Narcisse sat on his haunches, his
ill shaped head to one side and his ears cocked. After making a vicious
dig at a flea, he yawned and trotted about after the manner of his kind
in search of adventure. Paragot summoned him back.

"My good Narcisse, every spot on the earth has