Messieurs," said the merchant, "permit me to offer you a few bottles
of wine to wash down the carp. We'll ease the fatigues of the day by
drinking. From your manner and the state of your clothes, I judge that
you have made, like me, a good bit of a journey to-day."

The two friends accepted, and the landlord went out by a door through
the kitchen to his cellar, situated, no doubt, under this portion of the
building. When five venerable bottles which he presently brought back
with him appeared on the table, the wife brought in the rest of the
supper. She gave to the dishes and to the room generally the glance of
a mistress, and then, sure of having attended to all the wants of the
travellers, she returned to the kitchen.

The four men, for the landlord was invited to drink, did not hear her go
to bed, but later, during the intervals of silence which came into their
talk, certain strongly accentuated snores, made the more sonorous by
the thin planks of the loft in which she had ensconced herself, made
the guests laugh and also the husband. Towards midnight, when nothing
remained on the table but biscuits, cheese, dried fruit, and good wine,
the guests, chiefly the young Frenchmen, became communicative. The
latter talked of their homes, their studies, and of the war. The
conversation grew lively. Prosper Magnan brought a few tears to the
merchant's eyes, when with the frankness and naivete of a good and
tender nature, he talked of what his mother must be doing at that hour,
while he was sitting drinking on the banks of the Rhine.

"I can see her," he said, "reading her prayers before she goes to bed.
She won't forget me; she is certain to say to herself, 'My poor
Prosper; I wonder where he is now!' If she has won a few sous from
her neighbors--your mother, perhaps," he added, nudging Wilhelm's
elbow--"she'll go and put them in the great red earthenware pot, where
she is accumulating a sum sufficient to buy the thirty acres adjoining
her little estate at Lescheville. Those thirty acres are worth at least
sixty thousand francs. Such fine fields! Ah! if I had them I'd live all
my days at Lescheville, without other ambition! How my father used to
long for those thirty acres and the pretty brook which winds through
the meadows! But he died without ever being able to buy them. Many's the
time I've played there!"

"Monsieur Wahlenfer, haven't you also your 'hoc erat in votis'?" asked
Wilhelm.

"Yes, monsieur, but it came to