his interest. Some of his debtors pay when they happen to think of it, but generally in kind; a dozen eggs, a pair of chickens;--that is the usual custom, and it would be thought insulting if he insisted on his money. I suppose he would do the same in their place so he submits, growling. Luckily he has enough to live on, a nice round sum getting rounder every year, for he is an old bachelor with few expenses, no extravagances, and as for the pleasures of the table, nature has spread her board lavishly in our fields. We have vineyards, orchards, game, and fish in abundance, so there are but two ways for Paillard to spend his money: he buys books, which he likes to show at a distance, for he is chary of lending, and then there are the new spectacles from Holland with which he loves to look at the lady in the moon, sly dog. He has put up a sort of scaffolding in the roof of his house among the chimneys and from there he carefully studies the movements of the heavenly bodies, and tries to discover the course of our destinies, little as he understands them. To tell the truth he does not really believe in all this, but he likes to persuade himself that he does, and there I agree with him, for what can be more charming than to look out at the stars as if from our window, just as we see fair ladies in the streets,--we imagine a story about them, some romantic adventure, it may not be true, but it is at least amusing---- We had much to say to each other about the portent; that terrible bloody sword which had been seen in the heavens during the night of the previous Sunday and each interpreted it according to his own idea, insisting most positively that his view was the right one. After all we found that neither of us had so much as set eyes on it, for the astrologer unluckily had chosen that very evening to fall asleep at his instrument; and thus we were perfectly delighted to find ourselves companions in misfortune and foolishness. Having determined not to mention this incident to Chamaille, we set out across country, admiring the young shoots on the bushes, the pink buds, the birds making their nests, and a hawk slowly circling above the plain. We had a great deal of fun as we went along, over an old joke that we had once played on Chamaille; we shut a blackbird up in a cage, and worked day and night to teach him a Huguenot song, and when he had it well in his head, we turned him loose in the vicar’s garden. His new accomplishment was soon picked up by all the other blackbirds in the village, and they sang so loud as to disturb Chamaille at his devotions. He swore, crossing himself, that the devil was loose in his garden, then tried to exorcise him, and finally took aim with an arquebus from behind the shutters, and shot the evil spirit; but in the bottom of his heart he must have had some doubts, for having killed the devil he then proceeded to eat him. Our walking and talking brought us at last to Brèves, which seemed to be half asleep.