Our two carts were soon loaded with the Mayor, the panels, the presents, the children, four musicians, and four Councilors. I went on foot, however, for I am not yet so feeble as to be dragged about in a cart, like a calf on its way to the butcher. The weather was not quite to my liking, for the air was close and sultry, with a sun hot enough to roast you beating down on our heads, and clouds of dust and flies about us; we none of us minded, however, as we were out on a spree; Florimond was peevish, but then he is always bothering, like a girl, about his complexion. Our worthy citizens sat up very stiff and proper as long as we could see St. Martin’s tower, but when we got well outside the town, all formality dropped off, and left us, as you may say, in our shirt-sleeves. We cracked a few rather doubtful jokes, for that is the way we generally begin, and then there was singing; his honor the Mayor leading off, while I accompanied him on the flageolet, and the rest joined in the chorus. In the midst of all the voices and instruments I could hear my little Glodie’s shrill sweet pipe like a sparrow. We did not get on very fast, because the nags would stop on top of every hill to get their breath, and then when we came to Boychault, our scrivener, Pierre Delavau, begged us to go out of our way a little, and we could not very well say no, for he was the only Alderman who had so far asked no favors, so we had to stop to let him draw up a will for one of his clients, which was rather a long business; but no one really objected except Florimond, who this time had the apothecary on his side. All the same Master Delavau drew out the document at his leisure, and the others had to put up with it as best they could.