THE innkeeper was a man of middle size, half Spaniard and half Moor, with a big body and thin leys, a brown skin and grey eyes. He had acquired considerable reputation in the district for his mode of dressing calves’ feet with saffron, and his handiness in stabbing people in the right place. He made everything a matter of trade, and used to regret that he had inherited no religious opinions which he could have abjured at a fixed price to be got either from the Saracens or the Christians. For the rest, he was a most obliging host, provided your purse was well supplied; and I believe I shall put the finishing stroke to the likeness when I say he was the biggest robber in all Spain, from Pontevedra to Girone. Ali Pépé opened the door. One is always forgetting something, and I forgot to tell you his name was Ali Pépé. “Where’s the landlady?” asked Allegrignac, twisting his moustache. “I want a bed,” yawned Porc-en-Truie. “Some supper!” growled Mont-Rognon. Maragougnia said nothing. He was absorbed in studying the inn, and the estimate he formed seemed far from satisfactory. Ali Pépé stood on the defensive, blocking the entrance of the inn. “Your lordships appear of too exalted a station for me to omit to inform you that you will find the accommodation here very unsuited to you.” “Here’s frankness and disinterestedness! But where can we find better accommodation?” [Illustration: 176] “My inn is the only one in the district.” “Then make way for us,” said Mont-Rognon, catching up Ali Pope by the girdle, and carrying him in at arm’s length into the kitchen. “We shall be able to converse better here!” Maragougnia entered last. He tried all the locks, in order to see whether the doors closed securely. He examined all the outlets, sounded the panels, and ordered his squire to bring him his arms. “We want four beds,” said Porc-en-Truie. “In the same room,” said Maragougnia, who had a horror of being solitary. “First of all we want supper,” bellowed Mont-Rognon; “don’t let us forget the most important of our wants.” “A modest supper,” suggested Maragougnia, who was afraid of the expense. “A modest supper!” bellowed the Lord of Bourglastic. “Don’t you do anything of the kind, landlord, or I’ll burn the place about your ears. Empty your poultry-yard, drag your fish-ponds, uncork your bottles; set to work--kill, pluck, draw, and broach,--in short, make ready, to the best of your power, a feast for an emperor or a sultan!” “You will lay for me separately,” said the Count of Riom, tearfully, “a few radishes and some wine of first-rate----” “Cheapness,” kindly suggested Allegrignac, with a smile. “May I know whom I have the honour to serve?” said Ali Pépé, with a bow so respectful that Maragougnia was horrified to see it, fearing it would be included in the bill.