ips.

"Just in time," said the postilion; "it was on its way. What is it?"

"You wouldn't let me drink to the health of your mistress, but I hope
you won't refuse to drink to mine."

"Oh! that's never refused, especially with such wine. To the health of
your mistress and her company."

Thereupon citizen Antoine swallowed the crimson liquor, tasting and
relishing it this time.

"Hey!" exclaimed Montbar, "you're in too much of a hurry, my friend."

"Pooh!" retorted the postilion.

"Yes. Suppose I have several mistresses. If I don't name the one we
drink to what good will it do her?"

"Why, that's true!"

"Sad; but you'll have to try again, my friend."

"Ha! Try again, of course! Can't do things half-way with a man like you.
The sin's committed; we'll drink again." And Antoine held out his glass.
Montbar filled it to the brim.

"Now," said Antoine, eying the bottle, and making sure it was empty,
"there must be no mistake. Her name?"

"To the beautiful Josephine!" said Montbar.

"To the beautiful Josephine!" repeated Antoine.

And he swallowed the Burgundy with increasing satisfaction. Then, after
drinking, and wiping his lips on his sleeve, he said, as he set the
glass on the table: "Hey! one moment, citizen."

"What now?" exclaimed Montbar. "Anything wrong this time?"

"I should say so. We've made a great blunder but it's too late now."

"Why so?"

"The bottle is empty."

"That one, yes; but not this one."

So saying, Montbar took from the chimney corner another bottle, already
uncorked.

"Ah! ah!" exclaimed Antoine, a radiant smile lighting his face.

"Is there any remedy for it?" asked Montbar.

"There is," replied Antoine, holding out his glass.

Montbar filled it as scrupulously full as he had the first three.

"Well," said the postilion, holding the ruby liquid to the light and
admiring its sparkle, "as I was saying, we drank to the health of the
beautiful Josephine--"

"Yes," said Montbar.

"But," said Antoine, "there are a devilish lot of Josephines in France."

"True. How many do you suppose there are, Antoine?"

"Perhaps a hundred thousand."

"Granted. What then?"

"Well, out of that hundred thousand a tenth of them must be beautiful."

"That's a good many."

"Say a twentieth."

"All right."

"That makes five thousand."

"The devil! You're strong in arithmetic!"

"I'm the son of a schoolmaster."

"Well?"

"Well, to which of those five thousand did we drink, hey