andishing a plate, "here is a field of
beet-root. Well. Here am I then. I advance, do I not? _Eh bien!
sacristi_," and the statement, waxing louder, rolls off into a
reverberation of oaths, the speaker glaring about for sympathy, and
everybody nodding his head to him in the name of peace.

The ruddy Northman told some tales of his own prowess in keeping order:
notably one of a Marquis.

"Marquis," I said, "if you take another step I fire upon you. You have
committed a dirtiness, Marquis."

Whereupon, it appeared, the Marquis touched his cap and withdrew.

The landlord applauded noisily. "It was well done," he said. "He did all
that he could. He admitted he was wrong." And then oath upon oath. He
was no marquis-lover either, but he had a sense of justice in him, this
proletarian host of ours.

From the matter of hunting, the talk veered into a general comparison of
Paris and the country. The proletarian beat the table like a drum in
praise of Paris. "What is Paris? Paris is the cream of France. There are
no Parisians: it is you and I and everybody who are Parisians. A man has
eighty chances per cent to get on in the world in Paris." And he drew
a vivid sketch of the workman in a den no bigger than a dog-hutch,
making articles that were to go all over the world. "_Eh bien, quoi,
c'est magnifique, ca!_" cried he.

The sad Northman interfered in praise of a peasant's life; he thought
Paris bad for men and women; "centralization," said he----

But the landlord was at his throat in a moment. It was all logical, he
showed him, and all magnificent. "What a spectacle! What a glance for an
eye!" And the dishes reeled upon the table under a cannonade of blows.

Seeking to make peace, I threw in a word in praise of the liberty of
opinion in France. I could hardly have shot more amiss. There was an
instant silence, and a great wagging of significant heads. They did not
fancy the subject, it was plain; but they gave me to understand that the
sad Northman was a martyr on account of his views. "Ask him a bit," said
they. "Just ask him."

"Yes, sir," said he, in his quiet way, answering me, although I had not
spoken, "I am afraid there is less liberty of opinion in France than you
may imagine." And with that he dropped his eyes, and seemed to consider
the subject at an end.

Our curiosity was mightily excited at this. How, or why, or when, was
this lymphatic bagman martyred? We concluded at once it was on some
religious ques