“Florimond,” said my daughter Martine gravely, “we were all like that at home, always jolly and ready for a good story. You ought not to complain of that sort of disposition, for it is much to your advantage, and it is lucky for you that the idea that I could deceive you at any moment is so amusing to me that I don’t care to do it. Now don’t put on that gloomy air; you know the proverb, ‘No need to cry out before you are hurt.’” VII THE PLAGUE We have recently had reason to feel the full truth of the old saying: “Evil comes on a swift horse, but is slow of foot to leave us.” This time we had hardly any warning, for on Monday of last week we heard of the first case of the plague at St. Fargeau, and the evil seed sprang up so rapidly that by the end of the week there were ten more cases and yesterday it broke out here in our neighborhood at Coulanges-la-Vineuse. You can imagine what a clatter there was in our duck-pond, and how the boldest took to their heels! Most of the women and children were packed off to Montenoison to be out of danger; leaving an unwonted calm behind them, at least in my household; it’s an ill wind that blows no one good! Florimond went in charge of the female detachment, on the pretext that he could not leave Martine, as she was near her confinement, but he was kept in countenance by many another gentleman, who, when his carriage was at the door, thought it was a good time to go and see how the crops were getting on at a distance. We who stayed behind put a good face on it, and had no end of fun out of the people who were frightened, and their precautions. The Provost stationed guards at the town gates, and on the road to Auxerre, with strict orders to turn back any tramps or beggars who might attempt to enter, and even the well-to-do, whose purses at least were perfectly healthy, had to be examined by our three physicians, Messrs. Etienne Loyseau, Martin Frotier, and Philibert des Veaux, all fortified against the plague by means of masks, spectacles, and long false noses filled with unguents. Everybody laughed so much at them that Frotier could bear it no longer, and tore off his nose, declaring that he for his part had no faith in such nonsense; all the same, poor old chap, he died of it, but so did Loyseau also, who kept his nose on, and shared a bed with him. The only survivor of the three was des Veaux, who was better advised than his colleagues, and abandoned his post instead of his precautions. But I have got ahead of my story and must go back and begin again at the beginning. We all whistled loudly to keep our courage up, declaring that our tanneries would keep off the pestilence, as it is well known that there is nothing so healthy as the smell of leather. The last visitation we had had of the plague was about the year 1580 (I remember it well, for I was nearly fourteen years old); she poked her nose then over our threshold, but came no farther, to the astonishment of all our