s old.' Then she pointed to another, a tall woman,
whose head trembled unceasingly: 'This is Mother Jean-Jean, who is
sixty-seven. She is nearly blind, for her face was terribly singed in a
fire, and her right leg was half burnt off.'

"Then she pointed to the third, a sort of dwarf, with protruding, round,
stupid eyes, which she rolled incessantly in all directions. 'This is la
Putois, an idiot. She is only forty-four.'

"I bowed to the three women as if I were presented to some Royal
Highness, and turning to the priest I said: 'You are an excellent man
Monsieur l'Abbe, to whom all of us here owe a debt of gratitude.'

"Everybody was laughing, in fact, except Marchas, who seemed furious and
just then Karl Massouligny cried: 'Sister Saint-Benedict, supper is on
the table!'

"I made her go first with the priest, then I helped up Mother Paumelle,
whose arm I took and dragged her into the next room, which was no easy
task, for her swollen stomach seemed heavier than a lump of iron.

"Stout Ponderel gave her arm to Mother Jean-Jean, who bemoaned her
crutch, and little Joseph Herbon took the idiot, la Putois to the
dining-room, which was filled with the odor of the viands.

"As soon as we were opposite our plates, the Sister clapped her hands
three times, and, with the precision of soldiers presenting arms, the
women made a rapid sign of the cross, and then the priest slowly
repeated the _Benedictus_ in Latin. Then we sat down, and the two fowls
appeared, brought in by Marchas, who chose to wait on them, as to sit
down as a guest, to this ridiculous repast.

"But I cried: 'Bring the champagne at once!' and a cork flew out with
the noise of a pistol, and in spite of the resistance of the priest and
the kind Sister, the three hussars sitting by the side of the three
invalids, emptied their three full glasses down their throats, by force.

"Massouligny, who possessed the faculty of making himself at home, and
on being on good terms with everyone, wherever he was, made love to
Mother Paumelle, in the drollest manner. The dropsical woman, who had
retained her cheerfulness in spite of her misfortunes, answered him
banteringly in a high falsetto voice which appeared as if it were put
on, and she laughed so heartily at her neighbor's jokes, that her large
stomach looked as if it were going to rise up and get onto the table.
Little Herbon had seriously undertaken the task of making the idiot
drunk, and Baron d'Etreillis whose