“No, slice them and fry them,” says another; “they take too long to boil.  Bread!—­where’s the bread?  Where’s the oven?  If it were big enough, goody, we’d put you into it.”

“Ha! ha! what have I found here!—­a bag of money.”

“Divide! divide!” shouted two dozen voices.

“It’s mine, I found it!” cried the first.  Then they fell to blows, and some of them fell sprawling to the ground, and were kicked, the bag was snatched from the finder, and the money scattered on the floor; then they scrambled for it, as many as could get near it, laughing and cursing; while others ransacked drawers, cupboards, and shelves, and others broke open the cellar door, and began to drink.

Terrified beyond expression, I went back to my uncle, and saw, to my surprise and relief, that he had fallen into a heavy sleep, which was a restorative he particularly needed.  On looking from the window, I say my aunt, almost incapacitated by her fears, attempting to catch the poultry, in which the dragoons alternately helped and hindered her, roaring with laughter when a hen flew shrieking over their heads, and then abusing my aunt.  They were quickly caught and plucked, and set, some to roast, some to broil, according to their capricious mandates; and then, when everything was in as fair train for their disorderly feast as it well could be (two or three additional fires having been kindled), one of them said, “Let us divert the time with a little good music;” and began to beat a drum.

“Louder! louder!” cried his comrades.  “Let’s have a chorus of drums!” How they came to have so many, I know not, except that they were brought for the special purpose of tormenting; but they produced six or eight, slung them round their necks, and began to beat them, crying,—­

“Now for the tour of the house!”

“Sure my uncle must be dead!” thought I, leaning over him anxiously.  But no, his breath came and went, though inaudibly, and had he been allowed to finish his sleep in peace it might have been for his healing.

Instead of this, I heard the dragoons come stamping upstairs, producing a muffled roll on their drums that sounded like muttering thunder.  They went into one room after another, and speedily reached that of my uncle, on catching sight of whom they triumphantly exclaimed, “Hah! ha! v’la notre ami!  Here is he whom we seek, and for whom we prepare the reveille.”  And ranging themselves round his bed in a moment of time, in spite of a warning gesture from me, it being impossible for my voice to be heard, they simultaneously beat their drums with a clangor that might have waked the dead.  No wonder, therefore, that my poor uncle started from his sleep bewildered, terrified, and looking as if he believed himself in some horrid dream.  In vain he moved his lips, in vain he raised his clasped hands to one and another, as if in supplication; the more distress he showed the more noise they made, till