“Ay, ay, sir,” said I, whipping old Rene smartly.  And in another minute we were thumping and bumping over great paving-stones, too noisily for conversation to be carried on, and getting into a melee of carts, wagons, and horsemen, all bound for Beaucaire.  The women were now in great delight, looking from side to side, commenting on the dress of one, the equipage of another, nodding to acquaintance, and crying “O, look!” to each other, when they saw anything beyond common.  I had enough to do, I assure you, to steer a straight course; and M. Bourdinave observing it, remarked that he hoped I should be equally vigilant in steering a straight course through life, which made me cry “Ay, ay, sir,” and set me thinking.

When the road became a little quieter, I heard him and my father discussing the price of cocoons, the superiority of good cocoons to cocalons, dupions, and soufflons; which last, I need not tell you, are very imperfect cocoons; dupions have two threads, and confuse one with another; and pointed cocoons are apt to break in the winding.  But all these, as you know, are turned to account by the silk-spinner, and worked up into stockings, sewing-silk, and handkerchiefs.  But the good cocoons that yield a strong, thick, compact filament, are appropriated by the silk-throwsters.

But this trade-talk was interrupted by cries of amused delight from the women, and on looking about to see what tickled their fancies, they pointed out to us a most extraordinary figure, standing bolt upright in a cart.  He was tall and meagre, and wore a long black robe and tall pointed cap, both of which appeared spangled with silver; instead of which, they were studded with steel buttons, needles, and pins, of which he was an itinerant vendor.  I believe the women would have purchased largely of him, had my father let me stop.

Next we came up with a little house upon wheels, drawn by a sorry horse, and on the wooden wall of the said house was depicted, many sizes larger than life, a great human tooth, with bleeding fangs.  Beneath was an inscription that the owner of the cart was a traveling dentist, who drew teeth without the least pain.

Alice, the maid, had instantly a great desire to let him draw a troublesome tooth of hers which, she took pains to assure us, was not impaired by natural decay, but only accidentally broken in cracking a cherry-stone.  “The edge is so rough,” said she, “that it hurts my tongue; and since this honest gentleman can extract it painlessly, I have a great mind to try his hand.”

“Plenty of time for that when we get to Beaucaire,” said M. Bourdinave.  “Sure, you would not have a tooth drawn in the middle of the high road?”

“Truly, I should not mind it, inside that nice little wooden house,” said she.

But no, she was not allowed to do so; and, to console her, Madeleine uncovered a little basket she carried on her arm, and discovered cherries as red as her own lips, nestling in dark green leaves.  “Here,” said she, cheerfully, “are some stones to take your revenge on.”