"It was at the H？tel-de-Ville，" retorted Oudarde sharply， "and Dr. Scourable addressed them a harangue in Latin， which pleased them greatly. My husband， who is sworn bookseller told me.""It was at the Petit Bourbon，" replied Gervaise， with no less spirit， "and this is what monsieur the cardinal's procurator presented to them： twelve double quarts of hippocras， white， claret， and red； twenty-four boxes of double Lyons marchpane， gilded； as many torches， worth two livres a piece；and six demi-queues* of Beaune wine， white and claret， the best that could be found. I have it from my husband， who is a cinquantenier**， at the Parloir-aux Bourgeois， and who was this morning comparing the Flemish ambassadors with those of Prester John and the Emperor of Trebizond， who came from Mesopotamia to Paris， under the last king， and who wore rings in their ears."* A Queue was a cask which held a hogshead and a half.
** A captain of fifty men.
"So true is it that they supped at the H？tel-de-Ville，"replied Oudarde but little affected by this catalogue， "that such a triumph of viands and comfits has never been seen.""I tell you that they were served by Le Sec， sergeant of the city， at the H？tel du Petit-Bourbon， and that that is where you are mistaken.""At the H？tel-de-Ville， I tell you！"
"At the Petit-Bourbon， my dear！ and they had illuminated with magic glasses the word hope， which is written on the grand portal.""At the H？tel-de-Ville！ At the H？tel-de-Ville！ And Husson-le-Voir played the flute！""I tell you， no！"
"I tell you， yes！"
"I say， no！"
Plump and worthy Oudarde was preparing to retort， and the quarrel might， perhaps， have proceeded to a pulling of caps， had not Mahiette suddenly exclaimed，--"Look at those people assembled yonder at the end of the bridge！ There is something in their midst that they are looking at！""In sooth，" said Gervaise， "I hear the sounds of a tambourine. I believe 'tis the little Esmeralda， who plays her mummeries with her goat. Eh， be quick， Mahiette！ redouble your pace and drag along your boy. You are come hither to visit the curiosities of Paris. You saw the Flemings yesterday； you must see the gypsy to-day.""The gypsy！" said Mahiette， suddenly retracing her steps， and clasping her son's arm forcibly. "God preserve me from it！ She would steal my child from me！ Come， Eustache！"And she set out on a run along the quay towards the Grève， until she had left the bridge far behind her. In the meanwhile， the child whom she was dragging after her fell upon his knees； she halted breathless. Oudarde and Gervaise rejoined her.
"That gypsy steal your child from you！" said Gervaise.
"That's a singular freak of yours！"
Mahiette shook her head with a pensive air.
"The singular point is，" observed Oudarde， "that ~la sachette~has the same idea about the Egyptian woman."
"What is ~la sachette~？" asked Mahiette.
"Hé！" said Oudarde， "Sister Gudule."
"And who is Sister Gudule？" persisted Mahiette.
"You are certainly ignorant of all but your Reims， not to know that！" replied Oudarde. "'Tis the recluse of the Rat-Hole.""What！" demanded Mahiette， "that poor woman to whom we are carrying this cake？"Oudarde nodded affirmatively.
"Precisely. You will see her presently at her window on the Grève. She has the same opinion as yourself of these vagabonds of Egypt， who play the tambourine and tell fortunes to the public. No one knows whence comes her horror of the gypsies and Egyptians. But you， Mahiette--why do you run so at the mere sight of them？""Oh！" said Mahiette， seizing her child's round head in both hands， "I don't want that to happen to me which happened to Paquette la Chantefleurie.""Oh！ you must tell us that story， my good Mahiette，" said Gervaise， taking her arm.
"Gladly，" replied Mahiette， "but you must be ignorant of all but your Paris not to know that！ I will tell you then (but 'tis not necessary for us to halt that I may tell you the tale)， that Paquette la Chantefleurie was a pretty maid of eighteen when I was one myself， that is to say， eighteen years ago， and 'tis her own fault if she is not to-day， like me， a good， plump， fresh mother of six and thirty， with a husband and a son.
However， after the age of fourteen， it was too late！ Well， she was the daughter of Guybertant， minstrel of the barges at Reims， the same who had played before King Charles VII.， at his coronation， when he descended our river Vesle from Sillery to Muison， when Madame the Maid of Orleans was also in the boat. The old father died when Paquette was still a mere child； she had then no one but her mother， the sister of M.
Pradon， master-brazier and coppersmith in Paris， Rue Farm-Garlin， who died last year. You see she was of good family.
The mother was a good ****** woman， unfortunately， and she taught Paquette nothing but a bit of embroidery and toy-****** which did not prevent the little one from growing very large and remaining very poor. They both dwelt at Reims， on the river front， Rue de Folle-Peine. Mark this：
For I believe it was this which brought misfortune to Paquette.