And, of course: “Trois francs, Madame.” “No, Madame, deux francs... francs, francs, francs.” Baskets become veritable burdens. Gesticulations grow wilder, the cries louder, the exchange of francs and sous quicker and quicker. Everyone has vegetables and fruits; many have coloured stuffs. To and fro go the _patronne_ of our hotel, the postman, the _garde champêtre_, the barber, the Americans. To and fro go the village girls—but pause all at once before a ragged fellow whose eyes are crossed, whose face is unshaven, whose dirty hands clasp an accordion. The church clock strikes eleven. But above all these sounds rises suddenly and discordantly the voice of the man with the accordion. As he sings he leers. The village girls titter. To them, impudently and grotesquely, he addresses his eternal refrain: “Tu sais bien que je t’ai-ai-me.” Still we linger; soon we admire a group of women and children whose home is on the barges of the river bank. Barefoot, with shining black eyes and black hair, bright shawls and handkerchiefs, they add to the picturesqueness of the spectacle as they wander to and fro with wicker-work wares. A graceful English girl presents the children with grapes, and the children smile, displaying the whitest teeth. The women pounce upon stray slips of salad, broken atoms of cauliflower, and are watched suspiciously by the market-people. The foreigner sketches them; the painter evidently intends to include them in his scene—and we, also fascinated, would follow them, were we not tempted to listen to a noisy fellow who, flourishing a scrap of soap, boasts that it will blot out every stain. How simple, how easy is it to stain your coat, he cries; then proceeds to point out stains on various coats. Fear not, however. Be not cast down. _He_ is here, he, the enemy of stains—_he_ with “The Miraculous Tablet.” And the “Miraculous Tablet” is held on high and flourished to and fro, ready to render old clothes new, and soiled hats fresh, in exchange for two vulgar sous. “Seize this surprising opportunity,” shouts the man. “Take out your stains, all of you. The Miraculous Tablet will away with them all... except stains on your conscience. I swear it, and I am honest.” And then, continuing, he announces that the “Miraculous Tablet” has made him famous throughout the land; that clients return to him in thousands to express their gratitude; that a certain mother once shed tears of joy when he took an ink-stain out of her little boy’s white suit; that only yesterday, in Orleans, the inhabitants cheered and cheered him and, rushing forward, begged leave to shake his hand. “And,” he concludes, “believe me, ladies and gentlemen, I had not hands enough.” Suddenly a tambourine sounds, and up the street come a man and a woman with a dancing bear, another woman with a monkey. The monkey screams, the bear on its hind legs bobs up and down, up and down, and the man encourages him gruffly and the woman shakes the tambourine.