As you refuse to listen to any good reason, we propose to force our way
into your house.
THE HEMP-BEATER.
Try it, if you choose. We are so well protected that we need not fear
you. You are insolent knaves, too, and we won't answer you any more.
Thereupon, the hemp-beater closed the window-shutter with a great noise,
and went down to the lower room by a ladder. Then he took the bride by
the hand, the young people of both sexes joined them, and they all began
to dance and utter joyous exclamations, while the matrons sang in
piercing tones and indulged in loud peals of laughter in token of their
scorn and defiance of those who were attempting an assault without.
The besiegers, on their side, raged furiously together: they discharged
their pistols against the doors, made the dogs growl, pounded on the
walls, rattled the shutters, and uttered terror-inspiring yells; in
short, there was such an uproar that you could not hear yourself talk,
such a dust and smoke that you could not see yourself.
The attack was a mere pretence, however: the moment had not come to
violate the laws of etiquette. If they could succeed, by prowling about
the house, in finding an unguarded passage, any opening whatsoever, they
could try to gain an entrance by surprise, and then, if the bearer of
the spit succeeded in placing his bird in front of the fire, that
constituted a taking possession of the hearth-stone, the comedy was at
an end, and the bridegroom was victor.
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