And the two gentlemen went to assist Croque, who could not succeed in extricating himself from the rut.
“Ah! cré nom, tarteiff! a thousand million colored pipes! What in the devil’s the sense of roads like this! this is a vile hole of a place, this village of yours. When you dig holes, you ought to put lamps by ’em. Isn’t there any mayor here—cré coquin?”
“I hope you’re not hurt, my dear baron?”
“Ouiche! do I ever hurt myself? I’ve fallen farther than that—when I jumped from a first-floor, yes, and a second-floor window!”
“Take hold of me, monsieur; there, that’s right.”
“Hallo! there’s somebody else! is it neighbor Luminot?”
“No, dear baron, it isn’t our neighbor Luminot; it’s one of my friends from Paris, Freluchon, who has come down this evening so as to come to our fête to-morrow.”
“Oh! it seems he was afraid of missing the coach, was friend Tirebouchon!”
“I didn’t say Tirebouchon, baron, but Freluchon.”
“And if I should choose to murder your name, monsieur,” retorted the diminutive youth, “I might call you something extremely vulgar!”