“Who?”
“Why, Andoche, to be sure. He is coming this way. Shall I call him?”
“Yes, on condition that he is sober. When in his cups he respects neither man nor beast.”
Celestin Parjeau beckons to the blacksmith, but the latter, fearing lest he lose a chance to gain another “smile,” pretends not to see the signal. One of the little urchins playing near by is sent to bring him, and so Andoche is obliged to join them.
“The gamekeeper,” he begins, “you want to know about him? A very delicate subject to discuss, because one cannot speak openly. The army teaches us two great duties. One is never to imbibe spirituous liquors to excess, and the other is to be generous in dealing with all questions of sentiment, especially where a woman is concerned, and practically to say nothing. I am a soldier and have had experience in those things.”
“You are drunk again,” remarks the Mayor, candidly.
“I? Indeed, no! You may place Parjeau there in my arms, and I will carry him straight as a die to the post road.”
“Well, if you are not intoxicated, you at least are talking nonsense—cheap nonsense.”
“But I have more to say.”
“Well, proceed, but be quick about it.”