"He is coming," he answered, with more than his usual gloom. "He
passed this way this morning, and announced that on his return he
should spend the night here. We found the goodwife all of a
tremble when we arrived. He is a hard man, monsieur," the
mountebank continued bitterly. "She cried after him that she
hoped that God would change his heart, but he only answered that
even if St. Brieuc changed his body--you know the legend,
monseigneur, doubtless--he should be here."

"And here he is," the other, who had been looking out of one of
the windows, cried. "I see his lanthorn coming down the hill.
And by St. Brieuc, I have it! I have it," the droll continued,
suddenly spinning round in a wild dance of triumph on the floor,
and then as suddenly stopping and falling into an attitude before
us. "Monsieur, if you will help us, I have the richest jest ever
played. Pierre, listen. You, gentlemen all, listen! We will
pretend that he is changed. He is a pompous man; he thinks the
Mayor of Bottitort equal to the Saint Pere. Well, Pierre shall
be M. Grabot, Mayor of Bottitort. You, monsieur, that we may
give him enough of mayors, shall be the Mayor of Gol, and I will
be the Mayor of St. Just. This gentleman shall swear to us, so
shall the servants. For him, he does not exist. Oh, we will
punish him finely."

"But," I said, astounded by the very audacity of the rogue's
proposition, "you do not flatter yourself that you will deceive
him?"

"We shall, monsieur, if you will help," he answered confidently.