at each extremity, the sergeants of the rear-rank of this
gastronomic platoon, whose corks had blown out and were still flying in
space, while a bubbling white foam issued from their necks and fell
majestically over their sides after describing a long parabola. A
misleading sign, indeed!

A remorseful conscience, or a desire to protect herself from all reproach
of mendacity on the part of the customers, had made the owner of the inn
place a wire cupboard upon the sill of one of the windows near the door;
in which receptacle were some eggs on a plate, a bit of bread with which
David might have loaded his sling, a white glass bottle filled with a
liquid of some color intended to represent kirsch, but which was in
reality only water. This array gave a much more correct idea of the
resources of the establishment and formed a menu like an anchorite's
repast, and even this it was difficult for the kitchen's resources to
maintain.

A carriage-gate led into the yard and to the stables, cart-drivers being
the principal habitues of the place; another entrance, the one which was
crowned with the fantastic sign, was flanked by two stone seats and
opened directly into the kitchen, which also served as parlor for the
guests. A fireplace with an enormous mantel, under which a whole family
might warm themselves, occupied the middle of one side of the room. There
was a large oven in one corner which opened its huge mouth, the door
partly hiding the shovels and tongs employed in its service. Two or three
thoroughly smoked hams, suspended from the beams, announced that there
was no fear of a famine before the gastronomic massacres of Middlemas.
Opposite the window, a large, polished oak dresser displayed an array of
large flowered plates and little octagon-shaped glasses. A huge kitchen
kettle and some wooden chairs completed the furniture of the room.

From the kitchen one passed into another room, where a permanent table
surrounded by benches occupied its entire length. The wall paper, once
green, was now a dirty gray; it was embellished by half a dozen black
frames representing the story of Prince Poniatowski, who shares the honor
of decorating village inns with Paul and Virginia and Wilhelm Tell. On
the upper floor-for this aristocratic dwelling had a second
story--several sleeping-rooms opened upon a long corridor, at the end of
which was a room with two beds in it. This room was very neat and clean,
and was destined for any disti