concerned, but how are we to hide all those empty bottles, mostly
smashed, or at least broken necked; the remains of that demijohn M.
d'Anquetil threw at me; that tablecloth; those plates, candelabra
and mademoiselle's chemise, which in its soaked state is nothing but
a transparent veil encircling her beauty?"

"It is true," said Catherine, "yonder idiot has drenched my chemise,
and I am catching cold. But listen. Perhaps M. d'Anquetil could hide
in the top room, and I would make the abbe my uncle and Jacques my
brother."

"No good at all," said M. d'Anquetil. "I'll go myself and kindly ask
M. de la Gueritude to have supper with us."

We urged him, all of us--my tutor, Catherine and I--to keep quiet;
we entreated him, hung on his neck. It was useless. He got hold of a
candelabra and descended the stairs. Trembling we followed him. He
unlocked the door. M. de la Gueritude was there, exactly as M.
d'Anquetil had described him, with his periwig, between two flunkeys
bearing torches. M. d'Anquetil saluted with the utmost correctness
and said:

"Accord us the favour to come in, sir. You'll find some persons as
amiable as singular. Tournebroche, to whom Mam'selle Catherine
throws kisses from the window, and a priest who believes in God."

Wherewith he bowed respectfully.

M. de la Gueritude was of the dry sort, very tall, and little
inclined to the enjoyment of a joke. That of M. d'Anquetil provoked