"That's not worth while," replied Courtin, good-humoredly; "pour it out now. I'll drink it here in the chimney-corner with the friends."
No one seemed to object to this qualification; but neither did any one stir to make room for him. Courtin was therefore obliged to make further advances.
"Are you well, gars Aubin?" he asked, addressing the tavern-keeper.
"As you see," replied the latter, without turning his head.
It was obvious to Courtin that he was not received with much good-will; but he was not a man to disconcert himself for a trifle like that.
"Here, Mariette," said he, "give me a stool, that I may sit down near your uncle."
"There are no stools left, Maître Courtin," replied the girl. "I should think your eyes were good enough to see that."
"Well, then, your uncle will give me his," continued Courtin, with audacious familiarity, though at heart he felt little encouraged by the behavior of the landlord and his customers.
"If you will have it," grumbled Aubin Courte-Joie, "you must, being as how I am master of the house, and it shall never be said that any man was refused a seat at the Holly Branch when he wanted to sit down."
"Then give me your stool, as you say, smooth-tongue, for there's the very man I'm after, right next to you."