le to come
from Paris to Bourges to thank me, and to bring your daughter too."

"Excuse me in my turn! There are limits to modesty, Monsieur Mouillard,
and as my daughter is to marry your nephew, and as my daughter was in
Bourges, it was only natural that I should introduce her to you."

"Monsieur, I have no longer a nephew."

"He is here."

"And I never asked for your daughter."

"No, but you have received your nephew beneath your roof, and
consequently--"

"Never!"

"Monsieur Fabien has been in your house since yesterday; he told you we
were coming."

"No, I have not seen him; I never should have received him! I tell you I
no longer have a nephew! I am a broken man, a--a--a--"

His speech failed him, his face became purple, he staggered and fell
heavily, first in a sitting posture, then on his back, and lay motionless
on the sanded path.

I rushed to the rescue.

When I got up to him Jeanne had already returned from the little fountain
with her handkerchief dripping, and was bathing his temples with fresh
water. She was the only one who kept her wits about her. Madeleine had
raised her master's head and was wailing aloud.

"Alas!" she said, "it's that dreadful colic he had ten years ago which
has got him again. Dear heart! how ill he was! I remember how it came on,
just like this, in the garden."

I interrupted her lamentations by saying:

"Monsieur Charnot, I think we had better take Monsieur Mouillard up to
bed."

"Then why don't you do it?" shouted the numismatist, who had completely
lost his temper. "I didn't come here to act at an ambulance; but, since I
must, do you take his head."

I took his head, Madeleine walked in front, Jeanne behind. My uncle's
vast proportions swayed between M. Charnot and myself. M. Charnot, who
had skilfully gathered up the legs, looked like a hired pallbearer.

As we met with some difficulty in getting upstairs, M. Charnot said, with
clenched teeth:

"You've managed this trip nicely, Monsieur Fabien; I congratulate you
sincerely!"

I saw that he intended to treat me to several variations on this theme.

But there was no time for talk. A moment later my uncle was laid, still
unconscious, upon his bed, and Jeanne and Madeleine were preparing a
mustard-plaster together, in perfect harmony. M. Charnot and I waited in
silence for the doctor whom we had sent the office-boy to fetch. M.
Charnot studied alternately my deceased aunt's wreath of orange-blossoms,
pres