“You were near losing the last bark that sails for the Abbaye des Vignerons, Signori,” said the Genevese, recognizing the country of the strangers at a glance, “if, as I judge from your direction and haste, these festivities are in your minds.”

“Such is our aim,” returned the elder of the travellers, “and, as thou sayest, we are, of a certainty, tardy.  A hasty departure and bad roads have been the cause—­but as, happily, we are yet in time to profit by this bark, wilt do us the favor to look into our authority to pass?”

The officer perused the offered document with the customary care, turning it from side to side, as if all were not right, though in a way to show that he regretted the informality.

“Signore, your pass is quite in rule as touches Savoy and the country of Nice, but it wants the city’s forms.”

“By San Francesco! more’s the pity.  We are honest gentlemen of Genoa, hurrying to witness the revels at Vevey, of which rumor gives an enticing report, and our sole desire is to come and go peaceably.  As thou seest, we are late; for hearing at the post, on alighting, that a bark was about to spread its sails for the other extremity of the lake, we had no time to consult all the observances that thy city’s rules may deem necessary.  So many turn their faces the same way, to witness these ancient games, that we had not thought out quick passage through the town of sufficient importance to give thy authorities the trouble to look into our proofs.”

“Therein, Signore, you have judged amiss.  It is my sworn duty to stay all who want the republic’s permission to proceed.”

“This is unfortunate, to say no more.  Art thou the patron of the bark, friend?”

“And her owner, Signore,” answered Baptiste, who listened to the discourse with longings equal to his doubts.  “I should be a great deal too happy to count such honorable travellers among my passengers.”

“Thou wilt then delay thy departure until this gentleman shall see the authorities of the town, and obtain the required permission to quit it?  Thy compliance shall not go unrewarded.”

As the Genoese concluded, he dropped into a palm that was well practised in bribes a sequin of the celebrated republic of which he was a citizen.  Baptiste had long cultivated an aptitude to suffer himself to be influenced by gold, and it was with unfeigned reluctance that he admitted the necessity of refusing, in this instance, to profit by his own good dispositions.  Still retaining the money, however, for he did not well know how to overcome his reluctance to part with it, he answered in a manner sufficiently embarrassed, to show the other that he had at least gained a material advantage by his liberality.