“Will they have only one meal here?”

“That is all.”

“Has the captain found them a lodging, then?”

“It appears so,” said the messenger, who went, and declined to answer any more questions.

At last the much-desired day arrived; half-past twelve had just struck when some cavaliers stopped at the door of the hotel.  One, who appeared to be their chief, came with two well-mounted lackeys.  Each of them produced the seal of Cleopatra’s head, and were received with all sorts of courtesies, especially the young man with the lackeys.  Nevertheless, excepting this young man, they all seemed timid and preoccupied.  Most of them dispersed, however, until supper-time, either to swell the crowd at the execution of Salcede, or to see Paris.

About two o’clock, others began to arrive.  One man came in alone, without a hat, a cane in his hand, and swearing at Paris, where he said the thieves were so adroit that they had stolen his hat as he had passed through a crowd, without his being able to see who had taken it.  However, he said, it was his own fault, for wearing a hat ornamented with such a superb diamond.  At four o’clock, forty people had arrived.

“Is it not strange,” said Fournichon to his wife, “they are all Gascons?”

“Well, what of that?  The captain said they were all countrymen, and he is a Gascon.  M. d’Epernon is from Toulouse.”

“Then you still believe it was M. d’Epernon?”

“Did he not say three times the famous ’parfandious’?”

Very soon the five other Gascons arrived; the number of guests was complete.  Never was such surprise painted on so many faces; for an hour nothing was heard but “saudioux,” “mordioux!” and “cap de Bious!” and such noisy joy, that it seemed to the Fournichons that all Poitou and Languedoc were collected in their room.  Some knew, and greeted each other.

“Is it not singular to find so many Gascons here?” asked one.

“No,” replied Perducas de Pincornay, “the sign is tempting for men of honor.”

“Ah! is it you?” said St. Maline, the gentleman with the lackeys, “you have not yet explained to me what you were about to do, when the crowd separated us.”

“What was that?” asked Pincornay, reddening.

“How it happens that I met you on the road between Angouleme and Angers without a hat, as you are now?”

“It seems to interest you, monsieur?”

“Ma foi! yes.  Poitiers is far from Paris, and you came from beyond Poitiers.”

“Yes, from St. Andre de Cubsac.”

“And without a hat?”

“Oh! it is very simple.  My father has two magnificent horses, and he is quite capable of disinheriting me for the accident that has happened to one of them.”

“What is that?”

“I was riding one of them when it took fright at the report of a gun that was fired close to me, and ran away; it made for the bank of the Dordogne and plunged in.”