"What is the matter with it?" I said, "it does not smell like pure coffee."
The brothers exchanged a rapid glance.
"It is the Kirschenwasser," said Karl. "We always put it in our black coffee."
I tasted it, but the flavour of the coffee was quite drowned in that of the coarse, fiery spirit.
"Do you not like it?" asked the younger brother.
"It is very strong," I said.
"But it is very good," replied he; "real Black Forest Kirsch—the best thing in the world, if one is tired after a journey. Drink it off, mein Herr; it is of no use to sip it. It will make you sleep."
This was the longest speech either of them had yet made.
"Thanks," I said, pulling out my cigar-case, "but this stuff is too powerful to be drunk at a draught. I shall make it last out a cigar or two."
"And your friend?"