"How was he saved?" enquired the lawyer.
"He vas save by potting 'is foot to ze bottom," replied the host.
"I've heard of a man putting a stone on his head and walking through a river under water, but haven't believed it yet," continued Coristine.
"He had not necessity of a stone; 'is head was op; ze rivare vas not so 'igh zan ze jouldares of Meestare Bulky," answered Pierre quite seriously.
"Then he saved himself?"
"No, sare, 'is foot save 'im; Meestare Bulky 'ave a veray 'eavy foot. Eef 'is foot hadda been also leetle as ze foot of M'syae, Meestare Bulky vould 'ave drown."
Madame's sharp ears overheard this conversation while carrying on that with Wilkinson, and broke in upon her erring spouse:—
"Teh twa, Pierre! c'n'est paw trop poli d'se moquer des pieds d'un bon pawtron."
"Mez, Angélique, mwa, me moquer, mwa? et de M'syae Bulky? Aw, ma bonne Angélique, fi donc!" and M. Lajeunesse withdrew from the table, overwhelmed with the mere suspicion of such foul treachery and base ingratitude.
Batiste had put out three wooden arm chairs, and a rocker for Madame, on the verandah, whither the party of the tea table retired. Coristine asked her permission to smoke, when it appeared that Pierre had been waiting for a sign that either of his guests indulged in the weed. As he also filled his pipe, he remarked to his fellow smoker that "Meestare Bulky vare good shentleman, and rest 'ere longatimes, bot ze perfume of ze 'bonne pipe,' same of ze cigawr makea 'im seek."