We peeped into the houses as we went by; the sun was streaming in through the open doors, but we did not see a human being except one urchin enjoying the fresh air on the edge of a ditch. We strolled on arm in arm through the narrow street, encumbered with straw and filth, till, as we got near the center of the town, we began to hear a buzzing like the sound of a swarm of angry bees; and when we came out on the market-place it was packed with people gesticulating and shouting at the top of their lungs. Chamaille was standing at his garden gate purple with rage, and he too was screaming and shaking his fist in the faces of his parishioners. All this was perfectly unintelligible to us, for we could only catch a word here and there in the midst of the tumult of voices. “Caterpillars,--locusts,--field-mice,--cum Spiritu tuo!” Here Chamaille’s voice struck in. “No! nothing shall induce me to go!” Retort from the crowd, “Devil take it, are you our vicar or not? You know that you are, and it is your duty to work for us.” “Upstarts!--I am God’s servant, not yours!” To put an end to the uproar Chamaille banged the gate in the faces of the foremost, but through the bars we could see him still threatening his people with one hand, while by force of habit the other was raised in the attitude of benediction. We could catch a glimpse of him through the window, square of face and round of belly, and as he could no longer make himself heard above the clamor, we could see the derisive gesture with which he replied; but from that moment the house was closed and turned a blind eye on the street, so the noise gradually died down, the crowd grew thinner, and at last we could get near enough to knock at the door. It was a long time before we could get an answer. “Hi, Vicar!” we called, but there was no reply. “Go to the devil! I am out,” came from behind the shutters, and we continued to hammer on the door. “Get out, I tell you! If you don’t let my door alone you will get a deluge that will astonish you!”--and the contents of a bucket began to trickle down our backs. “Chamaille!” we called out; “make it wine if you want to soak us.” The tempest instantly subsided; and our friend stuck his jolly red face out of the window crying, “Name of a name, boys, is it you? In another minute you would have caught it finely--why didn’t you say who you were?” Then he came rushing downstairs. “Come in! come in! Give us your hand, and come upstairs and have a drink; you need it if you are half as hot as I am! It is a real treat to see a civilized human being after those dancing apes; did you see the row they were kicking up? But they can kick as they please, I will not stir one step. Do you know they actually wanted me to go out with the Holy Sacrament? There is a storm coming up too, and the Host and I would both have been soaked; but the idea of treating me as if I were a plowboy! I am no servant of theirs, sacrilegious rascals! I’ll teach them to treat God’s minister with