reproach in other respects. Thus, they were
prohibited by law from cutting off the combs
of old cocks in order to make them pass for
capons. They were obliged to clip the ears of
tame rabbits, that they might not be
mistaken for wild ones, and to cut the throats of
their domestic ducks to establish a similar
distinction. They were also compelled to sell
their rabbits with the heads on, "in order,"
said the ordinance, "that cats might not be
sold in their stead." If it chanced, however,
in spite of the royal edict, that a rôtisseur
served up a cat for a rabbit, and was detected,
an old parliamentary decree condemned the
culprit to make public amends, by going
in the middle of the day to the banks of
the Seine, and throwing the skinned and
decapitated grimalkins into the river, with
this confession uttered in his loudest voice:
"Good people, it would not have been my
fault, or that of my treacherous sauces, if
the tom cats you see here had not been
taken for honest rabbits."

Without enjoying the best reputation, the
cabarets of Saint Cloud had a remarkable
celebrity. They were called bottle-houses
(maisons de bouteille), and the most famous
amongst them was that kept by La Duryer,
renowned for generosity and charity, and for
an extraordinary exploit performed on a
memorable occasion. La Duryer was a native of
Mons, in Hainault, from which place she had
been taken, when quite a girl, by Monsieur
Saint Preuil; who made her a sutler. It was a
poor enough appointment; but La Duryer felt
eternally grateful for it, and devoted herself
heart and soul to the service of Saint Preuil,
whose housekeeper she also became;
economising his means, supplying him with all the
money she could scrape together, and receiving
very often as her only recompense harsh words
and hard blows; both of which she endured
without a murmur. In the course of time,
Saint Preuil obtained high military
promotion, and was made Governor of Arras.
There was no longer any occasion for her to
continue in the sutling line, or in his service;
and she left both, to establish an inn at Saint
Cloud, marrying a poor, but respectable man.
Her new calling flourished amazingly; and,
at the end of a few years, she possessed the
finest cabaret for thirty leagues round Paris.
In the midst, however, of La Duryer's
prosperity, she was informed that her old
protector, Saint Preuil, had imprudently mixed
himself up in the conspiracy of Cinq Mars
and De Thou against Cardinal Richelieu; and
that, like them, he had been arrested,
condemned, and taken to Amiens for execution.
Nothing could restrain La Duryer: she shut
up her cabaret and set off at once for
Amiens. She arrived there to view the
populace in the market-place clamouring for
the head of the Cardinal's victim. The poor
creature, involved in the crowd, was carried
by it to and fro, until she reached the very
foot of the scaffold. Raising her eyes, she
beheld Saint Preuil standing beside the axe,
pale but composed; his neck was bare;
his hands were tied behind his back, and his
right foot rested upon the bloody block. La
Duryer tried to call out to him; she strained
herself to her full height, extended her arms,
and made countless efforts to attract his
attention, but in vain: the noise and
confusion drowned her voice, and prevented
Saint Preuil, who was buried in a reverie,
from perceiving her gestures. The
executioner made a movement to pick up the axe,
Saint Preuil stepped back, and La Duryer
lost sight of him, while, a few moments after,
a loud cry arose from the people, and
something heavy fell upon the scaffold, which was
followed by a rush of blood. The fatal
blow had fallen! La Duryer staggered at
first beneath the effects of her grief and
terror, then suddenly regaining courage, she
flung herself on the steps of the scaffold, and
mounted them at a bound. The executioner
was in the act of raising the immense basket,
in which he had placed the body of Saint
Preuil; the lid gave way, and out flew the
victim's head, which rolled at the feet of La
Duryer. She did not shrink from the
horrible sight—her hour of fear had past—but,
stooping down while the executioner's back
was turned, she seized the head of her former
master, covered it over with her apron, and
hastily gliding from the scaffold, was soon
lost from sight in the narrow streets of
Amiens. She did not return to Saint Cloud,
until she had caused the head of Saint Preuil
to be embalmed, and had erected a splendid
tomb to his memory. Notwithstanding all
the pains she took to conceal the part she
had acted, this adventure became generally
known. Her name was everywhere
mentioned in terms of the highest praise, and her
cabaret became more frequented than ever.
"If I were curious on such a subject," writes
Furetière, "I should like to know how many
turkeys were eaten on a certain day at Saint
Cloud, at La Duryer's." More, without
doubt, than at all the rest of the bottle-houses
in the neighbouring villages, put together.

The taverns of Paris have witnessed or
given birth to many a tragic drama. It was
from one of the lowest of the class that
Ravaillac issued on the day when he
murdered King Henry the Fourth, armed with a
knife which he had stolen. Arriving in Paris,
somewhere about the tenth of May sixteen
hundred and ten, with the crowds who were
attracted thither by the fêtes which were
given on the occasion of the queen's
coronation, Ravaillac roamed about the streets,
vainly endeavouring to find a lodging. Near
the Hospital of the Quinze Vingt in the
Rue St. Honoré, he entered a small tavern,
in the hope of meeting with accommodation;
while the servant, whom he had
addressed, was making inquiry of her master,
he seized a large pointed knife, hid it under his