“Pardieu! I have my friend the notary here, who is a connoisseur in capons, so his wife tells me. I will get him to give me his opinion.” The mayor opened the door, and called the notary, who was dining with him, to come and pass judgment on the capon. Edouard and his wife were beginning to lose patience; they divined from what the judge had already said to them that they would have to pay the rascally inn-keeper; and that worthy also anticipated a victory; he stared at them insolently, then turned with a smile toward the peasants, who were eagerly awaiting the moment when they could make sport of the fine gentleman and fine ladies from Paris, which is a great source of enjoyment to peasants. But the notary appeared; he looked at Edouard and his wife, and recognized them as the purchasers of Monsieur Renâré’s house; and instead of looking at the fowl which Bonneau thrust under his nose, he saluted Murville and his companion most humbly. “What! do you know monsieur and madame?” asked the mayor in amazement. “I have that honor; monsieur has bought my neighbor Renâré’s estate, and pays cash for it. The deeds are being made in my office.” The notary’s words changed the whole aspect of the affair. The mayor became extremely polite to Edouard and his wife; he begged them to come into his salon a moment and rest; and then, turning with a stern expression toward Master Bonneau, who did not know which way to turn, he cried angrily: “You are a scoundrel! You are a knave! You dare to demand payment for a dinner which was not eaten! You serve dried-up fowls, rotten eggs, and ask forty francs for them.” “But, monsieur le maire----” “Hold your tongue, or I will make you pay a fine; I know that you mix drugs with your wine, and that you steal all the cats to make rabbit stew; but take care, Master Bonneau,--you will be held responsible for the first plump cat that disappears.” The inn-keeper retired, covered with confusion, and storming under his breath at the arrival of the notary, who had made the mayor turn about like a weathercock. He drove Fanfan before him, returned to the inn with the wretched fowl in his hand, and in order that everyone might share his ill-humor, he announced that they would have the capon for supper. The mayor, learning that Edouard and his wife had not dined, absolutely insisted that they should dine with him; he, himself, offered to fetch Madame Germeuil, who had remained in the cabriolet; but the young people declined, declaring that they were expected in Paris early and that they could not delay their departure any longer. So they separated, the mayor protesting that he should have great pleasure in becoming better acquainted with his constituents, and our young people thanking him for the zeal he had shown in their behalf after the notary’s arrival.