the yard from the Post-house. Everything taken out of the carriage
is put back again. The brave Courier announces that all is ready,
after walking into every room, and looking all round it, to be
certain that nothing is left behind. Everybody gets in. Everybody
connected with the Hotel de l'Ecu d'Or is again enchanted. The
brave Courier runs into the house for a parcel containing cold
fowl, sliced ham, bread, and biscuits, for lunch; hands it into the
coach; and runs back again.

What has he got in his hand now? More cucumbers? No. A long
strip of paper. It's the bill.

The brave Courier has two belts on, this morning: one supporting
the purse: another, a mighty good sort of leathern bottle, filled
to the throat with the best light Bordeaux wine in the house. He
never pays the bill till this bottle is full. Then he disputes it.

He disputes it now, violently. He is still the landlord's brother,
but by another father or mother. He is not so nearly related to
him as he was last night. The landlord scratches his head. The
brave Courier points to certain figures in the bill, and intimates
that if they remain there, the Hotel de l'Ecu d'Or is thenceforth
and for ever an hotel de l'Ecu de cuivre. The landlord goes into a
little counting-house. The brave Courier follows, forces the bill
and a pen into his hand, and talks more rapidly than ever. The
landlord takes the pen. The Courier smiles. The landlord makes an
alteration. The Courier cuts a joke. The landlord is
affectionate, but not weakly so. He bears it like a man. He
shakes hands with his brave brother, but he don't hug him. Still,
he loves his brother; for he knows that he will be returning that