gn-board bearing in addition to the name, the legend "Jardin. Noces.
Fetes." Within, a few lime-trees closely planted threw deep shadow over
the grassless garden; shrubs and flowers wilted in a neglected bed.

Usually the forlorn demesne was supervised by a mangy waiter brooding
over mangy tables and by a mangier cat who kept a furtive eye on the
placarded list of each day's _plat du jour_ and wondered when her turn
would come for Thursday's _Saute de lapin_. But tables, cat and waiter
cast manginess aside when _we_(the pride of that day still remains and
makes me italicise the word) came down to play at the wedding of Adolphe
Querlat and Leontine Bringuet.

"_Tiens!_ where is Pere Paragot?" asked fat Madame Bringuet--perspiring
in unaccustomed corset and black bombazine.

"Alas! he is no longer, Madame," explained Blanquette. "He had a seizure
yesterday. He fell off his chair, and we picked him up stone dead."

"_Tiens, tiens_, but it is sad."

"But no. It does not matter. This gentleman will make you dance much
better than Pere Paragot," and she whispered encomiums into Madame's
ear.

"Enchanted, Monsieur. And your name?"

My master swept a courtly bow with his feathered hat--no one ever bowed
so magnificently as he.

"Berzelius Nibbidard Paragot, _cadet_, at your service."

"You must be hungry, Monsieur Paragot--and Mademoiselle and this little
monsieur," said Madame Bringuet hospitably. "We are at table in the
_salle a manger_. You will join us."

We entered the long narrow room and sat down to the banquet. Heavens!
what a feast! There were omelettes and geese and eels and duck and tripe
and onion soup and sausages and succulences inconceivable. Accustomed to
the Spartan fare of vagabondage I plunged into the dishes head foremost
like a hungry puppy. Should I eat such a meal as that to-day it would be
my death. Hey for the light heart and elastic stomach of youth! Some
fifty persons, the _ban and arriere ban_ of the relations of the young
couple, guzzled in a wedged and weltering mass. Wizened grandfathers and
stolid large-eyed children ate and panted in the suffocating heat, and
gorged again. Not till half way through the repast did tongues begin to
wag freely. At last the tisane of champagne--syrupy paradise to my
uncultivated palate--was handed round and the toasts were drunk. The
bride's garter was secured amid boisterous shouts and innuendos, and
then we left the stifling room and entered the garden,