"Well, aren't you coming in, my dear Monsieur Monin? What in the deuce are you doing there all this time? It's a fine day; you don't need to wipe your feet." "Oh! but I'll tell you: as I came across the courtyard I looked up at the sky to see if we were going to have a shower, and I stepped into a dung-heap that I didn't see." "That's Baptiste's fault; it should have been taken away." "There, that will do." Monsieur Monin left the mat at last, and looking up at Monsieur Destival with a pair of big eyes level with his face, wherein one would have looked in vain for an idea, smiled a smile which cut his face in halves, although it was still dominated by a nose of enormous dimensions, always stuffed with snuff, like an unlighted pipe. "How's your health, neighbor?" "Very good, my dear sir. Pray come in; my wife is here and will be delighted to see you." Monsieur Monin entered the salon and removed his hat, making a low bow to Madame Destival, who acknowledged the salute by a smile which might have passed for a grimace; but Monsieur Monin took it most favorably for himself, and began his inevitable question: "How's your health, madame?" "Passable, monsieur; not very good at this moment; my nerves are unstrung, I have palpitations." "It's the weather, madame; the heat is intense to-day: twenty-six degrees and three-tenths." "Twenty-seven, neighbor," said Monsieur Destival, glancing at his thermometer. "That's surprising! it isn't so high at my house, and yet mine's in the same position. My wife says that I've made it too low lately." "Why did not Madame Monin come with you, neighbor?" "She's making pickles, and it will take her all day. My! but she takes a lot of pains with 'em! She won't go out to-day." "I am deeply indebted to the pickles," whispered Madame Destival, while Monsieur Monin continued, doing his utmost to force another pinch into his nose: "My wife said to me: 'I don't need you, Monin, take a walk.' So I came to see you." "That was very agreeable of you, neighbor. Will you pass the whole day with us?" "Why, yes, if it don't put you out, I should like to, because I'll tell you--when my wife's making pickles, she don't like to bother with cooking." "Very good, then you will stay. You will meet Monsieur Dalville, a delightful young man, full of fun. His servant, who is an old soldier, is to give me a lesson in drilling, for I am appointed general----" "What?" "Why, yes, in the _battue_ we're going to have." "Oh, yes! I was saying----" "Won't you take part in it, Monsieur Monin?" "Why, I'll tell you: when I had my rifle, it was all right--" "Madame, madame, a lovely calèche is just driving into the courtyard," said Julie, rushing into the salon. "A calèche?" "With Monsieur and Madame de la Thomassinière."