"Juste," said Florian: "all right: I'll find the gentleman somewhere else in good time. You hear, you lobsided lout over there? If I catch you within half a mile of Crescence again, I'll knock your crooked legs into a cocked hat, and then you may toddle on your tripod."
"You ragamuffin!" roared Steinhaeuser, before whom Caspar had posted himself. Florian made for him with a "Comapulation smash! foudre de Dieu!" but Caspar hauled him back, and Constantine was shrewd enough to interfere as a peacemaker.
The three left the house, followed by Josey. On the road they vowed never to patronize the Eagle again. Florian made an effort to go back, however: he hadn't given the landlord all his change.
"Thunder an' ouns!" said Constantine, "stay here, I tell you. You're the best man for flying off the handle in Wurtemberg. Be quiet, now: we'll manage to lay the geometer out some time, and make him forget the resurrection of the legs."
This counsel prevailed; and, to compensate themselves for their enforced inaction, they travelled through the village, the College Chap howling like a whipped dog, and making, as he expressed it, all the dogs in the houses rebellious.
3.
WEEKDAY LIFE ON SUNDAY.
Next day Crescence did not dress in her Sunday clothes to go to church, but complained of being unwell, and remained at home.
The tailor, when he came home from church and saw his daughter in dishabille, said,--