never failing concomitants of an Italian holiday, were here in full
ascendency; for the birthday of the portly host happening to fall on the
anniversary of St. Geronimo, the yearly festival which served to
celebrate the two in one, was a matter of no small interest to the
villagers. The dining room was filled almost to suffocation, and it were
a matter admitting of doubt, whether the chagrined few who chanced by
lateness of arrival, or other causes, to be excluded from seats at
table, were not to be envied rather than pitied in the endurance of
their deprivation.

Such a doubt, perhaps, was entertained by an individual dressed in a
peasant's frock and a slouched hat, who, pausing in the open doorway,
regarded the mixed assembly with a half smile, not wanting a certain
superciliousness which in other circumstances would have provoked
instant observation. Now, however, the full swing of common enjoyment
rendered every one blind to what the looker-on took no trouble to
conceal. Nor did he at all lower his disdainful regard, when a veteran
clad in a sort of military undress, arose from the opposite side of the
tables, and waving a wine-cup in his hand, drew on himself the general
attention.

"Comrades," he said, "I give to you, Napoleon! my noble master, who, six
years ago, delivered me with his own hand the shoulder-knot of a
sergeant of the guard. Napoleon!--the soldier's true friend, and the
greatest man on earth. Green be his memory forever!"

The words were scarce out of his mouth, when a youth, some twenty years
of age, sprang up and hastily replied:

"What right hast thou, Jean Maret, thus to celebrate in our midst, the
praises of our tyrant? Dost thou deem our spirits dead to all generous
emotion? A curse on the usurper who burned our country with fire, and
poured out the blood of its children like water! May just Heaven pour
down indignation on his head!"

This speech produced an instant commotion. Angry words were bandied back
and forth, and bright steel already flashed in the light, when the
sturdy voice of old Gaspar surmounted the din.

"What means this tumult?" he cried. "Shall a few wine-warmed words thus
set you all agog, my merry men? Come, you forget yourselves in giving
way to such causeless rage. And thou, Gulielmo, leave thy saucy quips.
How darest thou thus spoil good cheer?"

The youth, with a grieved countenance, turned to go.

"'Tis not," he said, "that I fear for threats, especially from M