and the breakfast he gave was in honour of
Joseph Lesurques, his friend and townsman.
Young, rich, ambitious, and respectable, formerly
belonging to the Regiment of Auvergne, and now
holding a responsible position at Douai, the
handsome fair-haired Joseph Lesurques was
about the most aristocratic person of citizen
Guesno's acquaintance, and one whose society he
especially courted and coveted—as, indeed, who
would not? even in that season of universal
equality and undistinguished citizenship. This
breakfast in his honour was given to celebrate
his arrival in Paris, whither he had removed
with his wife and family, full of plans and
projects for advancement and distinction, and
determined to make his yearly income of fifteen
thousand francs but the germ of his future
fortune. Guesno did well, then, to cultivate his
acquaintance, and show him what attention he
could. The guests invited to meet him were
three young men of about his own age, dressed
in the height of the fashion, with frizzed heads,
top-boots and silver spurs, large eye-glasses,
two huge watch-chains each, small canes, and a
profusion of jewellery; in fact, got up according
to the canons of the Incroyables, to which
special social sect they belonged. But they
were gay, talkative, well bred, and Lesurques
was soon on the best possible terms with them,
provincial-like taking them into his confidence,
and telling them of his plans quite unreservedly.
Towards the middle of breakfast came in a
fourth gentleman of the same school, a large,
broad-built, dark-eyed citizen, with bushy
eyebrows and a forbidding countenance, aged about
twenty-five, rejoicing in the name of Courriol,
and accompanied by one who should have been
Madame Courriol, but who was only Madeleine
Brébant. This dark-eyed sinister-looking citizen
was not Guesno's guest, nor did he come by his
invitation; he was a friend of M. Richard, whom,
he came to seek; but Guesno courteously invited
him to the table, where he made himself conspicuous
by his cynicism against Joseph Lesurques
for his boyishness and the freshness of his
hopes. After breakfast all the guests went to
the Palais Royal, where they had their café noir
like good citizens, then separated, and saw each
other no more.

Four days after, on the eighth of this same
flowery month (April 27), the guard of the
Charenton Barrière saw, early in the morning, four
horsemen ride through the gate out of the city.
They all had good horses, but evidently hired
hacks, not their own property, and they talked
loudly and gaily amongst each other. But
had the guard looked more narrowly he would
have seen that they wore sabres beneath
their cloaks, and that their anxious eyes and
haggard looks were in strange discord with their
noisy mirth. Last of the four, and riding
alone, was a large, broad-built, dark-eyed citizen,
heavy and sullen; the same who had ridiculed
Lesurques at Guesno's breakfast—Courriol, not
the husband of poor Madeleine Brébant.
Between twelve and one, the four horsemen rode
leisurely into the pretty little village of
Montgeron, on the way to Melun, where they stopped
at the door of the Hôtel Evrard, one having
galloped forward to order breakfast for the rest.
And in after days the landlord, Evrard, used to
depose ruefully to the fact of their having eaten
enormously, like half-famished horsemen as they
were; while Santon, the maid, could not keep
her eyes off them, fascinated by the good looks
of some, and the wolfish appetite of all. They
were a notable party altogether, and easy to be
remembered.

After breakfast they smoked, then went to
the village casino, where they had the orthodox
café noir; at three, riding off and onward,
through the dark elm-shadowed road which runs
between Montgeron and the wood of Sénart.
Talking carelessly, but ever with the same
anxious eyes, they clattered over the paved
streets of Lieusaint, a picturesque little village
then in the midst of a wood, famous in history
for the hunting adventure of Henry IV. and
the patriarchal reception of the Miller Michaud:
but there they met with a slight mischance.
One of the horses had cast its shoe, while one of
the men had broken the chain of his silver spur,
both of which disasters must be repaired on
the instant. This was not difficult. The rider
with the damaged spur rode up to the door of
Madame Châtelain, a lemonade seller, asking for
a cup of coffee and a bit of string wherewith to
fasten his spur. Madame was complaisant but
clumsy, so the horseman impatiently called to
her maid, fat, good-tempered Grossetête, whose
fingers seemed more capable than her mistress's,
and she mended the spur, not very much amiss,
with packthread and a multitude of knots.
Whereby both women looked at the horseman
well, and were able to swear to him when they
met him again; and as it was a fair bright
face, they thought to themselves that they did
not lose their time in the occupation.
Meanwhile the others had alighted at Champeau's
Hotel, where they had some wine, and the
stable-boy led the shoeless horse to Smith
Motteau's to be reshod. Then they all went back
in a body to the citizeness Châtelain's, played
billiards, and joked with Grossetête and the
rest; and so whiled away the hours like merry
gentlemen come out of Paris for a day's fresh
air and country amusement. But not wishing
to be belated, they paid their reckoning in good
time, mounted their horses, and rode off
tranquilly on their way: the last rays of the setting
sun shining bright and clear as they wound
down the quiet road.

In an hour's time, back came one at a
thundering gallop; he had forgotten his sabre, which
lay on a table in Champeau's Hotel. He was the
same handsome unlucky fellow who had broken
his spur which Grossetête had mended, and
misfortune seemed to pursue him, or, he was
singularly inexact and careless. While Champeau was
fussing for the sword, and Madame Champeau
exchanged civilities with the cavalier who was
drinking a glass of brandy at the hotel door, the
noise of carriage wheels was heard, and the
Courier of Lyons drew up to change horses. After