At the word, the others commenced in deep, hoarse voices: 
    “An old graybeard a wooing came,
        “Ha! ha! ha! 
    With plenty of brass, but little brain,
        Tira la la!

       Merrily round we go,
      Merrily. 
       All in a circle O,

      Cheerily! 
    Right joyful was the gaffer gray,
        La la la! 
    And who so blithe as he I pray? 
        Tira la la!

       Merrily round we go. 
    Alas! the change of time and tide,
        Ah! ha! ha! 
    That gaffer’s joy to grief should glide,
        Tira la la!

       Merrily round we go.”

“Trip on, friend Jean,” the leader said; “thou laggest wretchedly.  Let me spirit thee with this good steel rod; ’twill move thee most famously.”

Jean Maret, in spite of himself, discovered great agility on this occasion.  He could hardly have moved with more readiness in the rustic cotillon among the village lads and lasses.  Nevertheless, not a few oaths escaped him, doubly provoked as he was by the composure of his tormentors, and the laughter of the surrounding spectators.  But swifter still flew the brisk burden, “Tira la la.”

“Good people all,” the chief now said, “we have piped this man to play, and now that we the pipes have tuned, ’tis fair his purse should pay.”

“Villain!” replied the veteran, testily, “ye shall not have a doit!”

“Good luck, our friend’s not satisfied,” returned the mask.  “And yet we’ve done our best.  Well then, Jean Maret, we will offer you a change.  Doubtless you have seen the dance which is inspired by the bite of our famous black spider.  Let us see if our good steel may not be able to supply the place of the spider.  Come then, my lads, strike up ’La Tarantula.’”

Again Jean was forced to display his powers of agility, as flew the music and the accompanying voices, onward and still on, with ever-increasing rapidity.  At length his obstinacy was overcome, as much by the absurdity of the affair as its personal inconvenience.

“Cease, cease,” he cried; “have done with this, and the money you demand shall be forthcoming.  A pack of fiends were better companions, I trow, than your blackamoor troop.  Let me on, then, and I will lead you to my cash-box, and after you have there satisfied yourselves, I pray you to go your ways like honest thieves, as you are.”

“Take heed what you say, Jean,” replied the chief masker.  “We are honest, that is true enough, and we only want a fair payment for our services.  Our band never performs for a less price than a thousand crowns, nor will we ask more than this of a worthy soldier like yourself.  So lead the way, my friend, we follow close on your steps.”

With jingling steel and shrilly pipe, the troop retraced its course, till on arriving at the lodging-place of Jean Maret, the latter paid down the needful scot, indulging himself while counting out the coin in various hearty objurgations which seemed to add no little to the amusement of his hearers.  Meanwhile, from mouth to mouth, among the villagers, who gathered round the scene, passed the whispered murmur: