ut for a walk, the mademoiselle and
her father--and the mademoiselle, before they are out of sight from the
window, returns to say that they will not stay, that I shall repack
everything on that accursed car in readiness for their departure on the
return from their walk. _Tourment de Satan_!--very good, I repack it.
And now you bring no fish!"

Jean shrugged his shoulders.

"Well, since they are gone, what does it matter?"

"Gone! _Tonnerre_!"--Papa Fregeau's face was apoplectic, and his fat
cheeks puffed in and out like toy balloons. "Gone! Have I not told
you that they are not gone!"

"You have told me nothing"--there was a sudden, quick interest in
Jean's voice. "They are gone--and they are not gone! What are you
talking about?"

"I do not know what I am talking about!" snapped Papa Fregeau fiercely.
"How should I know! It is first this, then that, then this, then
that--it is a _badauderie_! She is crazy, the girl; the father is no
better; the maid, Nanette, is a hussy. She slapped my face when I but
paid her a pretty compliment; and Jules, the chauffeur, is a pig who
lies on his back under the infernal machine and will not lift a finger
with the baggage. Wait! Listen! Come here!" He pulled Jean in
through the door and across the cafe to the bar at the far end of the
room, where he hastily decanted a glass of cognac and tossed it off.
"See! Listen!" he went on excitedly, replenishing his glass. "I
repack everything on the machine again, which is out there behind the
tavern. I climb the stairs and I descend the stairs three dozen times,
there is always one more package. And then fifteen minutes ago
mademoiselle returns from her walk alone, and waves her
hands--_pouf_!--just like that--and she says: 'Monsieur Fregeau, we
will stay; take the baggage back to the rooms!' _C'est insupportable,
ca_!" Papa Fregeau flung out his arms in abandoned despair. "And now
there is no supper for them. _Sapristi_, I am no cook; but I could
cook fish if you, _miserable_ that you are, had brought them--heh! And
it is too late now to send for Mother Fregeau."

Jean was paying but slender attention. They had not gone! They were
going to stay!

"Get Madame Lachance, next door, to help you," he said absently. Then
abruptly: "Mademoiselle returned alone, you say--and what of monsieur,
her father?"

Papa Fregeau made a gulp at his second glass.

"He is impossible!" he choked. "With him it is the sunset! W