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.”