From the balcony of the hotel Monty and his party pelted those below with flowers and confetti.  More allusions to Franklin and Lafayette were made when the cure and the mayor halted the procession and presented Monty with an address richly engrossed on imitation parchment.  Then the school children sang and the crowd dispersed to meet again in the evening.

At eight o’clock Brewster presided over a large banquet, and numbered among his guests every one of distinction in the town.  The wives were also invited and Franklin and Lafayette were again alluded to.  Each of the men made at least one speech, but “Subway” Smith’s third address was the hit of the evening.  Knowing nothing but English, he had previously clung consistently to that language, but the third and final address seemed to demand something more friendly and genial.  With a sweeping bow and with all the dignity of a statesman he began: 

“Mesdames et Messieurs:  J’ai, tu as, il a, nous avons,”—­with a magnificent gesture, “vous avez.”  The French members of the company were not equal to his pronunciation and were under the impression that he was still talking English.  They were profoundly impressed with his deference and grace, and accorded his preamble a round of applause.  The Americans did their utmost to persuade him to be seated, but their uproar was mistaken by the others for enthusiasm, and the applause grew louder than ever.  “Subway” held up his hand for silence, and his manner suggested that he was about to utter some peculiarly important thought.  He waited until a pin fall could have been heard before he went on.

“Maitre corbeau sur un arbre perche—­” he finished the speech as he was being carried bodily from the room by DeMille and Bragdon.  The Frenchmen then imagined that Smith’s remarks had been insulting, and his friends had silenced him on that account.  A riot seemed imminent when Monty succeeded in restoring silence, and with a few tactful remarks about Franklin and Lafayette quieted the excited guests.

The evening ended with fireworks and a dance in the open air,—­a dance that grew gay under the masks.  The wheels had been well oiled and there was no visible failure of the carnival spirit.  To Brewster it seemed a mad game, and he found it less easy to play a part behind the foolish mask than he expected.  His own friends seemed to elude him, and the coquetries of the village damsels had merely a fleeting charm.  He was standing apart to watch the glimmering crowd when he was startled by a smothered cry.  Turning to investigate, he discovered a little red domino, unmistakably frightened, and trying to release herself from a too ardent Punchinello.  Monty’s arrival prevented him from tearing off the girl’s mask and gave him an entirely new conception of the strenuous life.  He arose fuming and sputtering, but he was taken in hand by the crowd and whirled from one to another in whimsical mockery.  Meanwhile Monty, unconscious that his mask had dropped during the encounter, was astonished to feel the little hand of the red domino on his arm and to hear a voice not at all unfamiliar in his ear: