He stopped for a moment, undecided, looking at his watch. Jupille, who was eying him intently, saw his distinguished friend gradually relax his frown and burst into a hearty laugh. "By Jove! it's madness at my age, but I don't care. We'll renew our youth for an hour or so. My dear Mouillard, Jupille has ordered dinner for us here. Had I been consulted I should have chosen any other place. Yet what's to be done? Hunger, friendship, and the fact that I can't catch the train, combine to silence my scruples. What do you say?" "That we are in for it now." "So be it, then." And led by Jupille, still carrying his catch, we entered THE ONLY GENUINE ROBINSON. M. Flamaran, somewhat ill at ease, cast inquiring glances on the clearings in the sgrubberies. I thought I heard stifled laughter behind the trees. "You have engaged Chestnut Number Three, gentlemen," said the proprietor. "Up these stairs, please." We ascended a staircase winding around the trunk. Chestnut Number 3 is a fine old tree, a little bent, its sturdy lower branches supporting a platform surrounded by a balustrade, six rotten wooden pillars, and a thatched roof, shaped like a cocked hat, to shelter the whole. All the neighboring trees contain similar constructions, which look from a little distance like enormous nests. They are greatly in demand at the dinner hour; you dine thirty feet up in the air, and your food is brought up by a rope and pulley. When M. Flamaran appeared on the platform he took off his hat, and leaned with both hands on the railing to give a look around. The attitude suggested a public speaker. His big gray head was conspicuous in the light of the setting sun. "He's going to make a speech!" cried a voice. "Bet you he isn't," replied another. This was the signal. A rustling was heard among the leaves, and numbers of inquisitive faces peeped out from all corners of the garden. A general rattling of glasses announced that whole parties were leaving the tables to see what was up. The waiters stopped to stare at Chestnut Number 3. The whole population of Juan Fernandez was staring up at Flamaran without in the least knowing the reason why. "Gentlemen," said a voice from an arbor, "Professor Flamaran will now begin his lecture." A chorus of shouts and laughter rose around our tree. "Hi, old boy, wait till we're gone!" "Ladies, he will discourse to you on the law of husband and wife!" "No, on the foreclosure of mortgages!" "No, on the payment of debts!" "Oh, you naughty old man! You ought to be shut up!" M. Flamaran, though somewhat put out of countenance for the moment, was seized with a happy inspiration. He stretched out an arm to show that he was about to speak. He opened his broad mouth with a smile of fatherly humor, and the groves, attentive, heard him thunder forth these words: "Boys, I promise to give you all white marks if you let me dine in peace!" The last words were lost in a roar of applause.