“And perhaps by some badly prepared dish, or a half-scoured saucepan; for the entertainment is not first-class at the Tête-Noire; I once ate a _fricandeau_ there that lay on my stomach three days, because it was seasoned with nutmeg, which always makes me ill. Nutmeg in a fricandeau! You must agree that that is perfectly horrible!” “True, that inn doesn’t deserve its reputation; for at my sister’s wedding party, which was held there----” “Your sister? which one, pray?” “The one who married Lagripe, the sub-prefect’s indoor man--you know? the little man with blue eyes and a red nose?” “Oh, yes! the father of the child the little sempstress opposite had.” “Oh! as to that, I don’t believe a word of it! It’s all made up by evil-tongued gossips.” “Look out, my friend, you are cutting me.” “That’s nothing; it was a bit of straw on your cheek, that caught the razor.--You must know that if Lagripe had got the sempstress with child, my sister wouldn’t have married him.” “Why not, pray? Between ourselves, my good fellow, your sister----” “What’s that? what do you mean, Monsieur Sauvageon?” “All right, my friend. Give me a bit of powder, and let us return to the somnambulist.--You were saying that he cured his companion’s colic last night?” “I don’t say that he cured him; but I tell you that he discovered the most hidden things, among others a soup-tureen that was under the landlord’s bed.” “And which someone had probably stolen and hidden there until the time came to carry it away.” “That is quite possible; but this much is certain, that he told everything that was in the tureen!” “Peste! that is rather strong! Did Jérôme tell you what the tureen contained?” “Certainly; it contained the supper of the magician, the doctor, the hunchback one.” “That is beyond me! To pilfer a supper, and then have it found in its natural state, after eating it--I confess that that is a most remarkable trick!” “But, Monsieur Sauvageon, I didn’t say that the supper was in its natural state; on the contrary, it was the result of the colic that was found!” “Morbleu! my man, why didn’t you say so? You keep me here two hours about the--Put on a little _pommade à la vanille_.” And, as our old bachelor was shaved and combed, the hair-dresser left him, to repeat his story to another of his customers, taking care to change it or add something to it. It is delightful to many people to have a piece of news to tell, and to make comments thereon. But, talking of anecdotes, master author, you are terribly loquacious, and you seem to take pleasure in listening to all the tittle-tattle of a small town. Surely Brother Jacques did not repeat to Sans-Souci the old bachelor’s conversation with his barber, or the maid-servant’s with the grocer’s clerk. How could he have known about them? True, reader; I plead guilty; I will try not to intrude my own remarks again in our soldier’s narrative of his adventures; and to begin with, I will allow him to resume at once.