He shook his fist stealthily. "God forbid!" he said. "But the devil is within doors, and we must do his bidding." "Ah!" I replied, my curiosity aroused "I should like to see him." The boor shaded his eyes, and looked at me sulkily from under his matted and tangled hair. "You are not of his company?" he said with suspicion. "I hope not," I answered, smiling at his simplicity. "But your corn is your own. I will call the men out." On which I made a sign to them to return. "Now," I said, as I walked my horse slowly towards the house, while he tramped along beside me, "who is within?" "M. Gringuet," he said, with another stealthy gesture. "Ah!" I said, "I am afraid that I am no wiser." "The tax-gatherer." "Oh! And those are his horses?" He nodded. "Still, I do not see why they are in the corn?" "I have no hay." "But there is grass." "Ay," the inn-keeper answered bitterly. "And he said that I might eat it. It was not good enough for his horses. They must have hay or corn; and if I had none, so much the worse for me." Full of indignation, I made in my mind a note of M. Gringuet's name; but at the moment I said no more, and we proceeded to the house, the exterior of which, though meagre, and even miserable, gave me an impression of neatness. From the inside, however, a hoarse, continuous noise was issuing, which resolved itself as we crossed the threshold into a man's voice. The speaker was out of sight, in an upper room to which a ladder gave access, but his oaths, complaints, and imprecations almost shook the house. A middle-aged woman, scantily dressed, was busy on the hearth; but perhaps that which, next to the perpetual scolding that was going on above, most took my attention was a great lump of salt that stood on the table at the woman's elbow, and seemed to be evidence of greater luxury--for the GABELLE had not at that time been reduced--than I could easily associate with the place. The roaring and blustering continuing upstairs, I stood a moment in sheer astonishment. "Is that M. Gringuet?" I said at last. The inn-keeper nodded sullenly, while his wife stared at me. "But what; is the matter with him?" I said. "The gout. But for that he would have been gone these two days to collect at Le Mesnil." "Ah!" I answered, beginning to understand. "And the salt is for a bath for his feet, is it?" The woman nodded. "Well," I said, as Maignan came in with my saddlebags and laid them on the floor, "he will swear still louder when he gets the bill, I should think." "Bill?" the housewife answered bitterly, looking up again from her pots. "A tax-gatherer's bill? Go to the dead man and ask for the price of his coffin; or to the babe for a nurse-fee! You will get paid as soon. A tax-gatherer's bill? Be thankful if he does not take the dish with the sop!"