made me one as low again. I never was more disconcerted by a bow
in my life. 'The devil take the serious character of these people,'
said I, aside; 'they understand no more of irony than this.' The
comparison was standing close by with her panniers, but something
sealed up my lips. I could not pronounce the name.

"'Sir,' said I, collecting myself, 'it is not my intention to take
post.'

"'But you may,' said he, persisting in his first reply. 'You may
if you choose.'

"'And I may take salt to my pickled herring if I choose.[1] But I
do not choose.'

"'But you must pay for it, whether you do or no.'

"'Ay, for the salt,' said I, 'I know.'

"'And for the post, too,' added he.

"'Defend me!' cried I. 'I travel by water. I am going down the
Rhone this very afternoon; my baggage is in the boat, and I have
actually paid nine livres for my passage.'

"'C'est tout égal--'tis all one,' said he.

"'Bon Dieu! What! pay for the way I go and for the way I do
not go?'