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Just," the servant repeated as if he noticed nothing amiss. "That is a lie!" the new comer replied, with a snort of triumph, "and an impudent one. But you have got the wrong sow by the ear this time." "Why, man," a third voice, somewhat nasal and rustical, struck in, "don't you know the Mayor of Bottitort?" "I should," my Breton answered bluntly, and making, as we guessed, a stand before them.
The knave did his business so well that Grabot, being just such a man as the stroller had described to us, the altercation on the threshold was of itself the most amusing thing in the world. "Who?" we heard a loud, coarse voice exclaim. "Who d'ye say are here, man?" "The Mayor of Bottitort." "The Mayor of Bottitort and the Mayors of Gol and St.
I had taken the precaution to bring a meal with me, and while La Trape and his companion unpacked it, and I dried my riding boots, I asked the players who it was they had meant to frighten. They were not very willing to tell me, but at length confessed, to my astonishment, that it was M. Grabot. "Grabot Grabot!" I said, striving to recollect where I had heard the name. "The Mayor of Bottitort?"
What else but treason could they mean by asserting that one of them was Mayor of Bottitort? By denying my title? By setting up other officers than those to whom his Gracious Majesty has delegated his authority?" "Umph!" his brother Mayor said, "I don't know these gentlemen." "No!" his companion cried in triumph. "But I intend to know them; and to know a good deal about them.
"For I am his servant, and he is this moment at his meat." "The Mayor of Bottitort?" "Yes." "M. Grabot?" "Yes." "And you are his servant?" "I have thought so for some time," the Breton answered contemptuously. The Mayor fairly roared in his indignation. "You his servant! The Mayor of Bottitort's?" he cried in a voice of thunder.
Well, Pierre shall be M. Grabot, Mayor of Bottitort. You, monsieur, that we may give him enough of mayors, shall be the Mayor of Gol, and I will be the Mayor of St. Just. This gentleman shall swear to us, so shall the servants. For him, he does not exist. Oh, we will punish him finely."
I have it," the droll continued, suddenly spinning round in a wild dance of triumph on the floor, and then as suddenly stopping and falling into an attitude before us. "Monsieur, if you will help us, I have the richest jest ever played. Pierre, listen. You, gentlemen all, listen! We will pretend that he is changed. He is a pompous man; he thinks the Mayor of Bottitort equal to the Saint Pere.
The solemn man made an atrocious grimace. Then, "Yes, monsieur, the Mayor of Bottitort," he said frankly. "A year ago he put Philibert in the stocks for a riddle; that is his affair. And the woman of this house has more than once befriended me, and he is for turning her out for a debt she does not owe; and that is my affair. However, your lordship's arrival has saved him for this time."
"At least, she says that she does not owe it," the man corrected himself, "for her father paid as usual at Corpus Christi; but after his death M. Grabot said that he had not paid, and " "M. Grabot?" I said. "Who is he?" "The Mayor of Bottitort." "The creditor?" "Yes." "And how much is owing?" I asked. "Nothing, she says." "But how much does he say?" "Twenty crowns."
He did not at once see me, but as the crowd made way for him he addressed himself sharply to M. Grabot. "Well, have you got them?" he said. "Certainly, M. le Comte." "Oh! very well. Now for the particulars, then. You must state your charge quickly, for I have to be in Vitre to-day." "He alleged that he had been appointed Mayor of Bottitort," Grabot answered pompously. "Umph! I don't know?"
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