A vehicle which does not resemble a cart is always an object of wonderment in a village. Five or six women, several old men, several peasants, and a multitude of children assembled about the carriage, and were gazing at it with curiosity, when a window was lowered and a man’s head appeared. Instantly a low murmur and a sneering laugh or two were heard among the bystanders, together with such remarks as these, not all of which were uttered in undertones: “Oh! how ugly he is!”--”Oh! what a face!”--”Is it legal to be as ugly as that, when you have a carriage?”--”Upon my word! I’d rather go afoot!”--”That fellow hasn’t been vaccinated!” There were other reflections of the same sort, which might have reached the ears of him who suggested them, and which it would have been more polite to make in a low tone; but politeness is not the favorite virtue of the peasants of the suburbs of Paris. Luckily, the man who had put his head out of the window was a little hard of hearing, and, besides, he was not a man to lose his temper for such trifles; on the contrary, assuming a smiling expression, he said, bowing to the assemblage: “Which of you, my good people, can direct me to Nicole Frimousset’s house? I know well enough that it’s on a street leading into the square, but that is all I know.” “Nicole Frimousset!” said a peasant about half seas over, who had just come from one wine-shop and was about to enter another; “she’s my wife, Nicole is; I am Jacquinot Frimousset, her husband; what do you want of my wife?” “What do we want of her? Parbleu! we’ve come to see the little one that we’ve placed in her charge, and to find out how he is, the dear child.” “The deuce! it’s monsieur le marquis!” cried Jacquinot, removing his hat and throwing several children to the ground in order to reach the carriage more quickly. “Excuse me, monsieur le marquis; you see, I didn’t know you. I’ll show you the way; that’s our street over there; it’s up hill, but you’ve got good horses.” And Jacquinot ran ahead of the carriage, shouting at the top of his lungs, and trying to dance. “Here’s little Chérubin’s father! Here’s the Marquis de Grandvilain, coming to our house! Ah! I’m going to drink his health.” The man who was in the carriage answered: “No, I am not the marquis, I am Jasmin, his first valet; and mademoiselle who is with me is not madame la marquise; she is Turlurette, her maid. But it’s all the same, our masters or us, it’s absolutely the same thing.” “What a stupid thing to say, Jasmin,” said Turlurette, nudging her companion; “the idea! our masters or us being the same thing!” “I mean so far as the child we have come to see is concerned. They have sent us to find out about his health; can’t we see that as well as our masters? And even better, for we have better eyes than they have.” “You speak of your masters with very little respect, Monsieur Jasmin.”