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must admit that it is practicable enough — ”
    “Not to be believed,” replied
Pinchinat, “not to be believed.”
CHAPTER IV.
    At eleven o’clock, after so long a walk, it was permissible to be hungry. And our
artistes took advantage of this permission; and they agreed that at any price
they must have some luncheon. This was also the opinion of Calistus Munbar.
    Should they return to the
Excelsior Hotel? Yes, for there did not seem to be many restaurants in this
town, where the people probably preferred to have their meals at home, and
tourists were apparently rather rare.
    In a few minutes a tramcar took
the hungry men to their hotel, where they took their places before a well-served
table. It afforded a striking contrast with the ordinary American style, in
which the multiplicity of the dishes is not at all in proportion to the
quantity they contain. Excellent was the beef and mutton; tender and tasty was
the poultry; of tempting freshness was the fish. And instead of the iced water
of the restaurants of the Union, there were several kinds of beer and wines
which the sun of France had distilled ten years before on the hill sides of
Medoc and Burgundy.
    Pinchinat and Frascolin did
honour to this repast, as did also Zorn and Yvernès. Calistus Munbar had
invited them, and it would have been bad taste not to have accepted his
hospitality.
    Besides, this Yankee, whose
conversational powers were inexhaustible, displayed quite a charming humour. He
told them all about the town except the one thing his guests wished to know,
namely, what was this independent city, the name of which he hesitated to
reveal?”A little patience,” he would say; “wait till the exploration is
finished.” Was his idea to make the quartette tipsy, with the object of letting
them miss the train to San Diego? No, but they drank well after having eaten
well, and the dessert was being finished with tea, coffee and liqueurs, when an
explosion shook the glasses in the hotel.
    “What is that?” asked Yvernès,
with a start.
    “Do not be uneasy, gentlemen,”
replied Calistus Munbar, “that is the gun at the observatory.”
    “If it only means noon,” said
Frascolin, looking at his watch, “I beg to state that it is late.”
    “No, Mr. Alto, no! The sun is no
later here than elsewhere.”
    A singular smile played on the
American’s lips, his eyes sparkled behind his spectacles, and he rubbed his
hands. He seemed to be congratulating himself on having perpetrated some
excellent joke.
    Frascolin, less excited than the
others by the good cheer, looked at him suspiciously without knowing what to
make of it.
    “Come, my friends,” added the
American, in his most amiable manner, “allow me to remind you that there is the
second part of the town for us to visit, and I shall die of despair if a single
detail escapes you. We have no time to lose.”
    “At what time does the train
start for San Diego?” asked Zorn, always anxious not to fail in his engagements
by arriving late.
    “Yes, at what time?” repeated
Frascolin.
    “Oh, in the evening,” replied
Calistus Munbar, with a wink of his left eye. “Come, my guests, come. You will
not repent of having had me as a guide.”
    How could they disobey such an
obliging personage? The four artistes left the Excelsior Hotel and strolled
along the road. It really seemed as though they had drunk rather freely of the
wine, for a kind of thrill seemed to run through their legs, although they had
not taken their places on one of the moving footways.
    “Eh! eh! Support us, Chatillon!”
exclaimed “his highness.”
    “I think we have had a little to
drink,” said Yvernès, wiping his forehead.
    “All right,” observed the
American, “once is not always! We had to water your welcome.”
    “And we have emptied the
watering-pot,” replied Pinchinat, who had never felt in a better humour.
    Calistus Munbar took them down
one of the roads leading to the second half of the town. In this district