“Unless,” said Miaulard, “they are robbers who are very fond of a play, and who were unable to resist the desire to see the fine performance going on here!” “_Fichtre!_ if _I_ had acted!” muttered young Saint-Arthur. “You are pleased to jest, messieurs, but I believe that I still hear the noise which frightened me just now.--Yes, there it is; listen.” The young men ceased to speak and did in fact hear the prolonged groan. “Parbleu! we will find out what that is!” said Astianax, arming himself with a chair. The others did the same, except Saint-Arthur, who deemed it prudent to return to the gate. Miaulard took down a lantern, and they went in the direction from which the noise came; they speedily discovered the gardener lying at the foot of a tree; he was asleep, but his sleep was greatly disturbed, for he groaned and muttered: “Ah! the villains! In pity’s name, don’t hurt papa!--Here, take that, you!” The young men returned to Madame de Grangeville, laughing heartily, and told her what had caused her terror. “It’s the actor who dealt blows in earnest,” said Chambourdin. “He is so full of his subject, that even when sleeping off his wine, he fancies that he is acting still.” “Let us go back to the company and allay their anxiety,” said Astianax, offering Madame de Grangeville his arm. “Come, madame; I trust that nothing more will interrupt the pleasures of the night.” “Faith,” said Chambourdin, “we are all in excellent mood to enjoy ourselves, to dance. Even Monsieur Glumeau, who seemed not to feel well when he was playing his tyrant’s rôle, is recovering all his agility and high spirits; he no longer has a stitch in his side.” “Yes, I noticed that,” muttered Miaulard; “the anisette has produced its due effect.” The young men returned to the house with the lady they had found in the woods, and the Comte de Brévanne, who had been an invisible witness of all that had happened, returned home, still saying to himself: “How she has changed!” XXI ON THE BOULEVARD Since Monsieur Malberg had gone to live at Nogent-sur-Marne, Georget, having no errands to do for him, had plenty of time to see the pretty flower girl and to talk to her; when she scolded him because he did not work, the messenger would reply with a sigh: “Bless me! mamzelle, it isn’t my fault if no work comes to me! I certainly don’t refuse any, and although I am very happy with you, I often regret that I don’t earn more money during the day--not for myself, for I always have more than I need, but for my mother, whom I would like to make more comfortable.”