Instantly the air was filled with the noise of bagpipes, horns, drums and voices,—François, the concierge and the gardener adding to the uproar with a prolonged Vive monseigneur! The ass that bore the person thus noisily welcomed continued at a fast trot across the greensward, for it saw at the left the entrance to its stable, beside a small cottage, where a cow and divers geese seemed also to be awaiting the new lord of the manor. But the infernal uproar which suddenly rent the air caused the donkey, which was not fond of music, to prick up its ears; it broke into a gallop in order to reach its quarters more quickly. Robineau tried to hold it back, but he had too much to do to hold himself in his seat. In vain did he call out to the peasants, to François, to stop the ass; the strains of the instruments drowned his voice. The ass shot through the midst of the villagers like an arrow, as they stood respectfully aside and saluted the new proprietor, who entered upon his domain at a gallop, clinging to the tail and mane of his mount. But the ass, instead of going to the château, made for its own quarters, and did not stop till it reached the stable, where it immediately rolled on the floor with its rider. Monseigneur shrieked for help, while the ass brayed lustily, in order to have its share in the concert that was being given on the lawn.
Meanwhile, François and some of the peasants, surprised that monseigneur preferred to dismount in the stable of one of his vassals instead of in the courtyard of his château, went thither after him, and not without much difficulty did they succeed in extricating Monsieur de la Roche-Noire from beneath the ass. At last Robineau stood erect once more; he had fallen into the mire, which was in his hair and over one eye, and with which one side of his coat was besmeared. But his pleasure in having arrived and in hearing the tumult that was being made in his honor prevented him from observing the disarray of his costume. He strode proudly forth from the stable, and bent his steps, limping slightly, toward the peasants; he bowed to right and left and was intoxicated for some moments by the loud strains of the cowherds’ horns; he considered that Monsieur Cheval beat the drum as well as the wild Indian at the Palais-Royal, and that the peasant women had voices as good as choristers’.
But Monsieur Férulus stepped forward to meet him; he made a gesture with his left arm, whereupon François immediately made another with his right, and everybody was quiet. Thereupon Monsieur Férulus, having saluted as if he were about to dance a minuet, passed his tongue over his lips and addressed Robineau thus:
"Monsieur de la Roche-Noire:—Albo dies notanda lapillo!—The Romans marked with white and black stones their happy and unhappy days; we shall make a cross for this day which brings you among us. Long has this domain been deserted. You will be the sun, which is more than perfect (pluperfect), you will be the future, which is indefinite, and these peasants will enjoy a happiness which will not be conditional."
Alfred and Edouard, who were behind the recipient of this complimentary address, bit their lips to avoid laughing in Monsieur Férulus’s face, and moved away from the new landholder, whose garments did not exhale a pleasant odor. But Monsieur Férulus took snuff and continued his harangue:
"Monsieur de la Roche-Noire, vitam impendere vero; I have never declined compliments or flatteries; but it is very pleasant to me to be the first to salute the new owner of this château. May you be able to say of this castle: Inveni portum! or, if you prefer, to settle in Auvergne! If I am to credit public report, which has spoken to me through the medium of your valet de chambre, you combine in a single person the wisdom of Socrates, the justice of Aristides, the grandeur of Themistocles and the eloquence of Cicero; may you add to these the good fortune of Polycrates, the wealth of Crœsus, and the length of days of Methuselah!"
Monsieur Férulus ceased to speak, wiped his forehead and took more snuff. Robineau, who had listened with keen delight to his harangue, bowed low and replied:
"Certainly, monsieur! I beg your pardon—your name, if you please?"
"Férulus."
"Well, Monsieur Férulus, I am deeply touched. For my own part, I propose to live as long as possible.—But come whenever you choose, to eat a plate of soup at the château; even to-day."