Beyond the church and an old crooked, high-arched bridge, was Mr Thorpe in the turning of a very narrow by-road, stony and grass-grown, that took a winding as if to avoid the village, by ditch-side and over rubbish, till it caught the highway behind again: the worthy tutor had drawn up his horse, he was settling his spectacles, putting in his note-book, and feeling in his pocket for some coin, apparently to bestow on a man he had been talking to. A very singular group revealed itself as they reached him. A dark-faced jet-eyed man with a beard, black and bushy, his rough cap in hand, and a little organ slung from his back, stood replying to Mr Thorpe in strange broken French, mingled with English; while he seemed carefully to keep the trees between himself and the village: somewhat further down the by-way sat a disconsolate-looking boy with a guitar, beside a crouching monkey; while another man held the chain of a huge muzzled beast, shaggy and brown, which reared on its hind-legs, now growling, now dancing, now shrinking from the threatened whip, like a creature enraged by the distant voices. Their trade had been ruined, the man said; for it was the first time they had been turned out into the _chemin des affronteux_, belonging to thieves and villains. It would be known for miles round Paris in a day, for it was wonderful how the news travelled there. They had often been at Charlemont before, and were received well. The bear felt it worst, he thought. He was as good a bear as you would see, owing to his love of society. Perhaps it might have been owing to some news in the place—but one could not know what tunes would offend people nowadays, to dance to.