dinary
glasses, because of their small size.

"Meditating," echoed Rose-Pompon, "Ninny Moulin is meditating. Be
attentive!"

"He is meditating; he must be ill then!"

"What is he meditating? an illegal dance?"

"A forbidden Anacreontic attitude?"

"Yes, I am meditating," returned Dumoulin, gravely; "I am meditating
upon wine, generally and in particular--wine, of which the immortal
Bossuet"--Dumoulin had the very bad habit of quoting Bossuet when he was
drunk--"of which the immortal Bossuet says (and he was a judge of good
liquor): 'In wine is courage, strength joy, and spiritual fervor'--when
one has any brains," added Ninny Moulin, by way of parenthesis.

"Oh, my! how I adore your Bossuet!" said Rose-Pompon.

"As for my particular meditation, it concerns the question, whether the
wine at the marriage of Cana was red or white. Sometimes I incline to
one side, sometimes to the other--and sometimes to both at once."

"That is going to the bottom of the question," said Sleepinbuff.

"And, above all, to the bottom of the bottles," added the Bacchanal
Queen.

"As your majesty is pleased to observe; and already, by dint of
reflection and research, I have made a great discovery--namely, that, if
the wine at the marriage of Cana was red--"

"It couldn't 'a' been white," said Rose-Pompon, judiciously.

"And if I had arrived at the conviction that it was neither white nor
red?" asked Dumoulin, with a magisterial air.

"That could only be when you had drunk till all was blue," observed
Sleepinbuff.

"The partner of the Queen says well. One may be too athirst for science;
but never mind! From all my studies on this question, to which I have
devoted my life--I shall await the end of my respectable career with
the sense of having emptied tuns with a historical--theological--and
archeological tone!"

It is impossible to describe the jovial grimace and tone with which
Dumoulin pronounced and accentuated these last words, which provoked a
general laugh.

"Archieolopically?" said Rose-Pompon. "What sawnee is that? Has he a
tail? does he live in the water?"

"Never mind," observed the Bacchanal Queen; "these are words of wise men
and conjurers; they are like horsehair bustles--they serve for filling
out--that's all. I like better to drink; so fill the glasses, Ninny
Moulin; some champagne, Rose-Pompon; here's to the health of your
Philemon and his speedy return!"

"And to the success of his plant upon his stupid a