‘Give me half an hour in peace,’ said I; ‘and if I’m not deranged before it’s over, I’ll tell you.’ The abbé complied, and I fulfilled my promise--though in good sooth the shouts of laughter with which he received my story caused many an interruption. When I had finished, he began, and leisurely proceeded to inform me that Bouvigne’s great celebrity was as a place for runaway couples to get married; that the inn of the ‘Golden Fleece’ was known over the whole kingdom, and the Père Jose’s reputation wide as the Archbishop of Ghent’s; and as to the phrase ‘sous la cheminée’, it is only applied to a clandestine marriage, which is called a ‘mariage sous la cheminée.’ ‘Now I,’ continued he, ‘can readily believe every word you ‘ve told me; yet there’s not another person in Rochepied would credit a syllable of it. Never hope for an explanation. In fact, before you would be listened to, there are at least two duels to fight--the count first, and then D’Espagne. I know Laura well; she ‘d let the affair have all its éclat before she will say a word about it; and, in fact, your executors may be able to clear your character--you ‘ll never do so in your lifetime. Don’t go back there,’ said the abbé, ‘at least for the present.’ ‘I’ll never set my eyes on one of them,’ cried I, in desperation. ‘I’m nigh deranged as it is; the memory of this confounded affair----’ ‘Will make you laugh yet,’ said the abbé. ‘And now good-night, or rather good-bye: I start early to-morrow morning, and we may not meet again.’ He promised to forward my effects to Dinant, and we parted. ‘Monsieur will have a single bed?’ said the housemaid, in answer to my summons. ‘Yes,’ said I, with a muttering I fear very like an oath. Morning broke in through the half-closed curtains, with the song of birds and the ripple of the gentle river. A balmy gentle air stirred the leaves, and the sweet valley lay in all its peaceful beauty before me. ‘Well, well,’ said I, rubbing my eyes, ‘it was a queer adventure; and there’s no saying what might have happened had they been only ten minutes later. I’d give a napoleon to know what Laura thinks of it now. But I must not delay here--the very villagers will laugh at me.’ I ate my breakfast rapidly and called for my bill. The sum was a mere trifle, and I was just adding something to it when a knock came to the door. ‘Come in,’ said I, and the _père_ entered. ‘How sadly unfortunate,’ began he, when I interrupted him at once, assuring him of his mistake--telling him that we were no runaway couple at all, had not the most remote idea of being married, and in fact owed our whole disagreeable adventure to his ridiculous misconception. ‘It’s very well to say that _now_,’ growled out the _père_, in a very different accent from his former one. ‘You may pretend what you like, but’--and he spoke in a determined tone--‘you’ll pay _my_ bill.’ ‘_Your_ bill!’ said I, waxing wroth. ‘What have I had from you. How am I _your_ debtor? I should like to hear.’