"And you are called Pere Leger?" asked Georges, very seriously, as the
farmer attempted to put a foot on the step.

"At your service," replied the farmer, looking in and showing a face
like that of Louis XVIII., with fat, rubicund cheeks, from between
which issued a nose that in any other face would have seemed enormous.
His smiling eyes were sunken in rolls of fat. "Come, a helping hand,
my lad!" he said to Pierrotin.

The farmer was hoisted in by the united efforts of Pierrotin and the
porter, to cries of "Houp la! hi! ha! hoist!" uttered by Georges.

"Oh! I'm not going far; only to La Cave," said the farmer,
good-humoredly.

In France everybody takes a joke.

"Take the back seat," said Pierrotin, "there'll be six of you."

"Where's your other horse?" demanded Georges. "Is it as mythical as
the third post-horse."

"There she is," said Pierrotin, pointing to the little mare, who was
coming along alone.

"He calls that insect a horse!" exclaimed Georges.

"Oh! she's good, that little mare," said the farmer, who by this time
was seated. "Your servant, gentlemen. Well, Pierrotin, how soon do you