“Well now, Master Quintrand,” said Monsieur Lassagne, “shall we enter the lists this year with the first or second class of wrestlers?” “Ah! my poor sir, we shall wrestle with no one at all,” replied Master Quintrand. “Do you remember Master Quintrand, the year when Meissonier, Guéquine, Rabasson, presented themselves on the meadow, the three best wrestlers of Provence, and you threw them on their shoulders, all three of them!” “Eh, you don’t need to remind me,” said the old wrestler, lighting up. “It was the year when they took the citadel of Antwerp. The prize was a hundred crowns and a sheep for the second winner. The prefect of Avignon shook me by the hand! The people of Bédarride were ready to fight with those of Courtezon, on my account.... Ah! what a time, compared with the present! Now their wrestling will.... Better not speak of it, for one no longer sees men, not men, dear sir.... Besides, they have an understanding with each other.” We shook hands with the old man and continued our walk. “Come now,” I said to Lassagne, “I begin to understand--it is done with the soap ball!” “I have not finished yet,” he made answer. Just then the village priest came out of his presbytery. “Good day, gentlemen!” “Good day, Monsieur le Curé,” said Lassagne. “Ah, one moment, since we have met I want to tell you: this morning at Mass, I noticed that our church is becoming too small, especially on fête days. Do you think it would be a mistake to attempt enlarging it?” “On that point, Monsieur le Maire, I am of your opinion--it is true that on feast days one can scarcely turn round.” “Monsieur le Curé, I will see about it: at the first meeting of the Municipal Council I will put the question, and if the prefecture will come to our assistance----” “Monsieur le Maire, I am delighted, and I can only thank you.” As we left the ramparts, we saw coming a flock of sheep taking up all the road. Lassagne called to the shepherd. “Just at the sound of thy bells, I said, ‘this must be Georges!’ And I was not mistaken: what a pretty flock! what fine sheep! But how well you manage to feed them! I am sure that, taking one with another, they are not worth less than ten crowns each!” “That is true certainly,” replied Georges. “I bought them at the Cold Market this winter; nearly all had lambs, and they will give me a second lot I do believe.” “Not only a second lot, but such beasts as those could give you twins!” “May God hear you! Monsieur Lassagne!” We had hardly finished talking to the shepherd when we overtook an old woman gathering chicory in the ditches. “’Hold, it is thou, Bérengère,” said Lassagne, accosting her. “Now really from behind with thy red kerchief I took thee for Téréson, the daughter-in-law of Cacha, thou art exactly like her!” “Me! Oh Monsieur Lassagne, but think of it! I am seventy years old!” “Oh come, come, from behind if thou couldst see thyself, thou hast no need of pity. I have seen worse baskets at the vintage!”