ressing-case, a piece of soap in one of
the shoes, two volumes of the _Collection Jannet_ lettered "Poesies de
Charles d'Orleans," a map, and a version-book containing divers notes in
prose and the remarkable English roundels of the voyager, still to this
day unpublished: the Commissary of Chatillon is the only living man who
has clapped an eye on these artistic trifles. He turned the assortment
over with a contumelious finger; it was plain from his daintiness that
he regarded the _Arethusa_ and all his belongings as the very temple of
infection. Still there was nothing suspicious about the map, nothing
really criminal except the roundels; as for Charles of Orleans, to the
ignorant mind of the prisoner, he seemed as good as a certificate; and
it was supposed the farce was nearly over.

The inquisitor resumed his seat.

_The Commissary (after a pause):_ "_Eh bien, je vais_ _vous dire ce que
vous etes. Vous etes allemand el vous venez chanter a la foire._" (Well,
then, I will tell you what you are. You are a German, and have come to
sing at the fair.)

_The Arethusa:_ "Would you like to hear me sing? I believe I could
convince you of the contrary."

_The Commissary:_ "_Pas de plaisanterie, monsieur_!"

_The Arethusa:_ "Well, sir, oblige me at least by looking at this book.
Here, I open it with my eyes shut. Read one of these songs--read this
one--and tell me, you who are a man of intelligence, if it would be
possible to sing it at a fair?"

_The Commissary (critically):_ "_Mais oui. Tres bien._"

_The Arethusa:_ "_Comment, monsieur!_ What! But do you not observe it is
antique? It is difficult to understand, even for you and me; but for the
audience at a fair, it would be meaningless."

_The Commissary (taking a pen):_ "_Enfin, il faut en finir._ What is
your name?"

_The Arethusa (speaking with the swallowing vivacity of the English):_
"Robert-Louis-Stev'ns'n."

_The Commissary (aghast):_ "_He! Quoi?_"

_The Arethusa (perceiving and improving his advantage):_
"Rob'rt-Lou's-Stev'ns'n."

_The Commissary (after several conflicts with his pen):_ "_Eh bien, il
faut se passer du nom. Ca ne s'ecrit pas._" (Well, we must do without
the name: it is unspellable.)

The above is a rough summary of this momentous conversation, in which I
have been chiefly careful to preserve the plums of the Commissary; but
the remainder of the scene, perhaps because of his rising anger, has
left but little definite in the memory of t