ir, whence come you with a child? Mon Dieu! Of all burdens, soldiers rarely carry such as that."
"Nevertheless, I carry such a one. I am on the road from Pontarlier to Paris with my child, and I sleep to-night across the way at the Marquis Phélypeaux's. It seems there is no accommodation there for infants."
"Hein!" screamed the woman, turning to the customers in the place; "you hear that?" Then addressing herself to St. Georges, she continued: "You speak well, monsieur; that is no place for children. Ma foi! the old scélérat would be as like to eat it."
"Who, then, is Phélypeaux?" asked St. Georges as he sat himself down in front of the great kitchen fire--the kitchen serving always in a Burgundian inn as the general place of assembly and serving room. "Who is Phélypeaux?"
"Monsieur does not, in truth, know?" she replied, with a