“He’s going to make a speech!” cried a voice.  “Bet you he isn’t,” replied another.

This was the signal.  A rustling was heard among the leaves, and numbers of inquisitive faces peeped out from all corners of the garden.  A general rattling of glasses announced that whole parties were leaving the tables to see what was up.  The waiters stopped to stare at Chestnut Number 3.  The whole population of Juan Fernandez was staring up at Flamaran without in the least knowing the reason why.

“Gentlemen,” said a voice from an arbor, “Professor Flamaran will now begin his lecture.”

A chorus of shouts and laughter rose around our tree.

“Hi, old boy, wait till we’re gone!”

“Ladies, he will discourse to you on the law of husband and wife!”

“No, on the foreclosure of mortgages!”

“No, on the payment of debts!”

“Oh, you naughty old man!  You ought to be shut up!”

M. Flamaran, though somewhat put out of countenance for the moment, was seized with a happy inspiration.  He stretched out an arm to show that he was about to speak.  He opened his broad mouth with a smile of fatherly humor, and the groves, attentive, heard him thunder forth these words: 

“Boys, I promise to give you all white marks if you let me dine in peace!”

The last words were lost in a roar of applause.

“Three cheers for old Flamaran!”

Three cheers were given, followed by clapping of hands from various quarters, then all was silence, and no one took any further notice of our tree.

M. Flamaran left the railing and unfolded his napkin.

“You may be sure of my white marks, young men,” he said, as he sat down.

He was delighted at his success as an orator, and laughed gayly.  Jupille, on the other hand, was as pale as if he had been in a street riot, and seemed rooted to the spot where he stood.

“It’s all right, Jupille; it’s all right, man!  A little ready wit is all you need, dash my wig!”

The old clerk gradually regained his composure, and the dinner grew very merry.  Flamaran’s spirits, raised by this little incident, never flagged.  He had a story for every glass of wine, and told them all with a quiet humor of his own.

Toward the end of dinner, by the time the waiter came to offer us “almonds and raisins, pears, peaches, preserves, meringues, brandy cherries,” we had got upon the subject of Sidonie, the pearl of Forez.  M. Flamaran narrated to us, with dates, how a friend of his one day depicted to him a young girl at Montbrison, of fresh and pleasing appearance, a good housekeeper, and of excellent family; and how he—­M.  Flamaran—­had forthwith started off to find her, had recognized her before she was pointed out to him, fell in love with her at first sight, and was not long in obtaining her affection in return.  The marriage had taken place at St. Galmier.

“Yes, my dear Mouillard,” he added, as if pointing a moral, “thirty years ago last May I became a happy man; when do you think of following my example?”