ntoine, but familiarly
known as Le Bossu (hunchback)--a designation derived, like his
father's acres, from the Revolution, somebody having, during one of
the earlier and livelier episodes of that exciting drama, thrown the
poor little fellow out of a window in Strasbourg, and broken his back.
When this happened, Antoine, _pere_, was a journeyman _ferblantier_
(tinman) of that city. Subsequently, he became an active, though
subordinate member of the local Salut Public; in virtue of which
patriotic function he obtained Les Pres, the name of his magnificent
estate. Working at his trade was now, of course, out of the question.
Farming, as everybody knows, is a gentlemanly occupation, skill in
which comes by nature; and Citizen Delessert forthwith betook himself,
with his son, to Les Pres, in the full belief that he had stepped at
once into the dignified and delightful position of the ousted
aristocrat, to whom Les Pres had once belonged, and whose haughty head
he had seen fall into the basket. But envious clouds will darken the
brightest sky, and the new proprietor found, on taking possession of
his quiet, unencumbered domain, that property has its plagues as well
as pleasures. True, there was the land; but not a plant, or a seed
thereon or therein, nor an agricultural implement of any kind to work
it with. The walls of the old rambling house were standing, and the
roof, except in about a dozen places, kept out the rain with some
success; but the nimble, unrespecting fingers of preceding patriots
had carried off not only every vestige of furniture, usually so
called, but coppers, cistern, pump, locks, hinges--nay, some of the
very doors and window-frames! Delessert was profoundly discontented.
He remarked to Le Bossu, now a sharp lad of some twelve years of age,
that he was at last convinced of the entire truth of his cousin
Boisdet's frequent observation--that the Revolution, glorious as it
might be, had been stained and dishonoured by many shameful excesses;
an admission which the son, with keen remembrance of his compulsory
flight from the window, savagely endorsed.

'Peste!' exclaimed the new proprietor, after a lengthened and painful
examination of the dilapidations, and general nakedness of his
estate--'this is embarrassing. Citizen Destouches was right. I must
raise money upon the property, to replace what those brigands have
carried off. I shall require three thousand francs at the very least.'

The calculation wa