might be apprehended, so vivid was his emotion.
"By Heaven," he exclaimed, stamping his foot angrily, "that is too much."
"What?" the stranger asked, as he raised his head and wiped his moustache; "What is the matter with you, my good man?"
"Matter, indeed!" mine host growled.
"By the way, is my horse in the stable?"
"Your horse, your horse," the other grumbled, "as if that is troubling me."
"What is it then, if you please, master mine?" the stranger asked, as he poured out a bumper which he conscientiously drained to the last drop. "Ah," he said, "it is Jurançon; I recognise it."
This indifference and this coolness raised the landlord's anger to the highest pitch, and caused him to forget all prudence.
"Cogswounds," he said, boldly seizing the bottle, "it is a strange piece of impudence thus to enter an honest house without the owner's permission; decamp at once, my fine gentleman, unless you wish harm to befall you, and seek a lodging elsewhere, for, as far as I am concerned, I cannot and will not give you one."
The stranger had not moved a feature during this harangue; he had listened to Master Pivois without displaying the slightest impatience: when the landlord at length held his tongue, he threw himself back in his chair, and looked him fixedly in the face.
"Listen to me in your turn, master," he said to him, "and engrave these words deeply on your narrow brain: this house is an inn, is it not? Hence it must be open without hesitation to every stranger who comes here for food and lodging with money in his pocket. I am aware that you claim the right of only receiving such persons as you think proper; if there are people who put up with that, it is their business, but for my part, I do not intend to do so. I feel comfortable here, so I remain, and shall remain as long as I think proper; I do not prevent you from swindling me, for that is your duty as a landlord, and I have no right to object; but, if I am not served politely and dexterously—if you do not give me a proper bedroom to spend the night in—in a word, if you do not perform the duties of hospitality toward me in the way I expect, I promise to pull down your signboard, and hang you up in its place, on the slightest infraction you are guilty of. And now I suppose you understand me?" he added, squeezing the other's hand so hard that the poor fellow uttered a yell of agony, and went tottering against the kitchen wall: "Serve me, then, and let us have no more argument, for you would not get the best of the quarrel if you picked one with me."
And without paying further attention to the landlord, the traveller continued his interrupted supper.
It was all over with the landlord's attempted resistance; he felt himself vanquished, and did not attempt a struggle which had now become impossible. Confused and humiliated, he only thought of satisfying this strange guest who had installed himself by main force in the house.
The traveller did not in any way abuse his victory; satisfied with having obtained the result he desired, he did not take the slightest liberty.
The result was that gradually, from one concession to another—the one offering, the other not refusing—they became on the best possible terms; and toward the end of the supper, mine host and the traveller found themselves, without knowing how, the most affectionate friends in the world.
They were talking together. First of the rain and fine weather, the dearness of provisions, the king's illness, and that of his Eminence the Cardinal; then, growing gradually bolder, Master Pivois poured out a huge bumper of wine for his improvised guest, and collected all his courage.
"Do you know, my good gentleman," he said to him suddenly, shaking his head with an air of contrition, "that you are fearfully in my way?"
"Stuff!" the stranger answered, as he tossed off the contents of his glass, and shrugged his shoulders, "Are we coming back to the old story of just now? I thought that settled long ago."
"Alas! I would it were so for everybody as it is for me."
"What do you mean?"
"Pray do not get into a passion, sir," the landlord continued timidly; "I have not the slightest intention of insulting you."
"In that case explain yourself in the Fiend's name, my master, and come frankly to the point; I do not understand what others beside yourself have to do in the matter."
"That is just the difficulty," said Master Pivois, scratching his head.
"Speak, zounds! I am not an ogre; what is it that causes you such anxiety?"
The landlord saw that he must out with it, and fear giving him courage, he bravely made up his mind.
"Monseigneur," he said, honestly, "believe me that I am too much the man of the world to venture to act with rudeness to a gentleman of your importance—"
"Enough of that," the stranger interrupted, with a smile.
"But—" the host continued.
"Ah! There is a but."
"Alas! Monseigneur, there always is one, and today a bigger one than ever."
"Hang it all, you terrify me, master," the stranger remarked, with a laugh; "tell me quickly, I beg of you, what this terrible but is."
"Alas! Monseigneur, it is this: my entire hostelry was engaged a week ago by a party of gentlemen; I expect them to arrive in an hour—half an hour, perhaps, and—"
"And?" the stranger asked, in an enquiring tone, which caused the host to shudder.
"Well, Monseigneur," he resumed in a choking voice, "these gentlemen insist on having the hostelry to themselves, and made me swear not to receive any other traveller but themselves, and paid me to that effect."
"Very good," said the stranger, with an air of indifference.
"What do you say; very good? Monseigneur," Master Pivois exclaimed.
"Hang it! What else would you have me say? You have strictly fulfilled your engagement, and no one has the right to reproach you."
"How so, sir?"
"Unless you have someone concealed here," the stranger answered, imperturbably, "which, I confess, would not be at all honourable on your part."
"I have nobody."
"Well, then?"
"But you, monseigneur?" he hazarded timidly.
"Oh, I," the stranger replied laughingly, "that is another affair; let us make a distinction, if you please, master; you did not receive me, far from it; I pressed my company on you, as I think you will allow."
"It is only too true."
"Do you regret it?"
"Far from it, monseigneur," he exclaimed eagerly, for he was not at all desirous of re-arousing the slumbering wrath of the irascible stranger; "I am only stating a fact."
"Very good, I see with pleasure, Master Pivois, that you are a very serious man; you are stating a fact, you say?"
"Alas!
