ation," said a notary, laying down his pen; "but we know it already."
"That is very singular!" thought the host; "you must have a great deal of cunning."
"And we know also," continued the notary, "this famous name."
"The devil! the name also. How do they know that?" thought the host again.
"But," resumed the notary, with a serious air, "you do not tell all."
"What is there more to tell?"
"Ah! ah! we know well that this man carried to your house a quantity of stolen bread—bread acquired by theft and sedition."
"A man comes with bread in his pocket; am I to know where he got it? if it was on my death-bed, I can say, I only saw him have one loaf."
"Thus it is! you are always excusing and defending yourselves! If we were to take your word for it, you are all honest people. How can you prove that this bread was honestly acquired?"
"Why need I prove it? it is nothing to me. I am an innkeeper."
"You cannot, however, deny, that this, your customer, had the audacity to complain of the proclamations, and make indecent jokes on the arms of his Excellency."
"Pardon me, signor; how could he be my customer, when I never saw him before? It was the devil, saving your presence, who sent him to my house. If I had known him, there would have been no need of asking his name, as your honour knows."
"However, in your inn, and in your presence, seditious and inflammatory conversation has been held; your customers have been riotous, clamorous, and complaining."
"How would your honour expect me to pay attention to the absurdities uttered by a parcel of brawlers. I attend only to my own affairs, for I am a poor man. And then your honour knows, that those who are lavish of their tongue, are often lavish of their fists, especially when there are many together."
