the wheelwright of Coq received a visit which he
little expected. An old man, tall, thin and yellow, came into the
workshop carrying a scythe on his shoulder.

"Are you bringing me your scythe to haft anew, master?"

"No, faith, _my_ scythe is never unhafted."

"Then how can I serve you?"

"By following me: your hour is come."

"The devil," said the great golfer, "could you not wait a little till
I have finished this wheel?"

"Be it so! I have done hard work today and I have well earned a
smoke."

"In that case, master, sit down there on the _causeuse_. I have at
your service some famous tobacco at seven petards the pound."

"That's good, faith; make haste."

And Death lit his pipe and seated himself at the door on the elm
trunk.

Laughing in his sleeve, the wheelwright of Coq returned to his work.
At the end of a quarter of an hour Death called to him:

"Ho! faith, will you soon have finished?"

The wheelwright turned a deaf ear and went on planing, singing:

"Attendez-moi sur l'orme;
Vous m'attendrez longtemps."

"I don't think he hears me," said Death. "Ho! friend, are you ready?"

"Va-t-en voir s'ils viennent, Jean,
Va-t-en voir s'ils viennent,"

replied the singer.

"Would the brute laugh at me?" said Death to himself.

And he tried to rise.

To his great surprise he could not detach himself from the _causeuse_.
He then understood that he was the sport of a superior power.

"Let us see," he said to Roger. "What will you take to let me go? Do
you wish me to prolong your life ten years?"

"J'ai de bon tabac dans ma tabatiere,"

sang the great golfer.

"Will you take twenty years?"

"Il pleut, il pleut, bergere;
Rentre tes blancs moutons."

"Will you take a fifty, wheelwright?--may the devil admire you!"

The wheelwright of Coq intoned:

"Bon voyage, cher Dumollet,
A Saint-Malo debarquez sans naufrage."

In the meanwhile the clock of Conde had just struck four, and the
boys were coming out of school. The sight of this great dry heron of a
creature who struggled on the _causeuse_, like a devil in a holy-water
pot, surprised and soon delighted them.

Never suspecting that when seated at the door of the old, Death
watches the young, they thought it funny to put out their tongues at
him, singing in chorus:

"Bon voyage, cher Dumollet,
A Saint-Malo debarquez sans naufrage."

"Will you take a hundred years?" yelled Death.

"Hein?