"Well, so will I," said Cartier. "And you?"
"I? You know I have made a vow never to take either liqueur or coffee."
To what saint and on what occasion I made this vow I cannot at all say; but I know I kept it religiously.
"Then we will say two small absinthes?" replied Cartier, continuing to joke. "That will be six sous, waiter, in exchange for your receipt." In the provinces, at any rate at Villers-Cotterets, a small glass of absinthe costs three sous.
"My dear Gondon," I said, "I cannot offer you a better prayer than my uncle's, the curé at Béthisy: 'My God, side neither with one nor with the other, and you will see a rascal receive a jolly good whacking!' Will you have your six points, father Cartier?"
"Go along with you!" Cartier exclaimed disdainfully, putting my ball on the yellow.
We played Russian fashion, a game with five balls, and thirty-six points. I made the yellow six times—three times into the right pocket and three times into the left.
"Six times six; thirty-six; first round. Your two small glasses are not worth more than their three sous, father Cartier." "Four sous, you mean to say."
"Not unless I let you win the second round."
"Come on, then!"