for the
cashier, who will repay you whatever it costs you."

He gave Mme. Oreille a slip of paper, who took it, got up and went out,
thanking him, for she was in a hurry to escape lest he should change his
mind.

She went briskly through the streets, looking out for a really good
umbrella maker, and when she found a shop which appeared to be a
first-class one, she went in, and said, confidently:

"I want this umbrella re-covered in silk, good silk. Use the very best
and strongest you have; I don't mind what it costs."

BELHOMME'S BEAST

The coach for Havre was ready to leave Criquetot, and all the passengers
were waiting for their names to be called out, in the courtyard of the
Commercial Hotel kept by Monsieur Malandain, Jr.

It was a yellow wagon, mounted on wheels which had once been yellow, but
were now almost gray through the accumulation of mud. The front wheels
were very small, the back ones, high and fragile, carried the large body
of the vehicle, which was swollen like the belly of an animal. Three
white horses, with enormous heads and great round knees, were the first
things one noticed. They were harnessed ready to draw this coach, which
had something of the appearance of a monster in its massive structure.
The horses seemed already asleep in front of the strange vehicle.

The driver, Cesaire Horlaville, a little man with a big paunch, supple
nevertheless, through his constant habit of climbing over the wheels to
the top of the wagon, his face all aglow from exposure to the brisk air
of the plains, to rain and storms, and also from the use of brandy, his
eyes twitching from the effect of constant contact with wind and hail,
appeared in the doorway of the hotel, wiping his mouth on the back of
his hand. Large round baskets, full of frightened poultry, were standing
in front of the peasant women. Cesaire Horlaville took them one after
the other and packed them on the top of his coach; then more gently, he
loaded on those containing eggs; finally he tossed up from below several
little bags of grain, small packages wrapped in handkerchiefs, pieces of
cloth, or paper. Then he opened the back door, and drawing a list from
his pocket he called:

"Monsieur le cure de Gorgeville."

The priest advanced. He was a large, powerful, robust man with a red
face and a genial expression. He hitched up his cassock to lift his
foot, just as the women hold up their skirts, and climbed into the
coach.

"The scho