As they advanced, they thought they recognized at first a beam, a chest, the trunk of a tree. Then they gave a cry of joy.
It was a real cask, but a very queer cask, such as they had never seen before. One would have said a tube, bulging in the middle and closed at the two ends by a layer of plaster.
“Ah, that’s comical!” cried Rouget, in rapture. “This one I want the Emperor to taste. Come, children, let’s go in.”
They all agreed not to touch it, and the “Baleine” returned to Coqueville at the same moment as the “Zéphir,” in its turn, anchored in the little harbor. Not one inquisitive had left the beach. Cries of joy greeted that unexpected catch of three casks. The gamins hurled their caps into the air, while the women had at once gone on the run to look for glasses. It was decided to taste the liquid on the spot. The wreckage belonged to the village. Not one protest arose. Only they formed into two groups, the Mahés surrounded Rouget, the Floches would not let go of La Queue.
“Emperor, the first glass for you!” cried Rouget. “Tell us what it is.”
The liquor was of a beautiful golden yellow. The garde champêtre raised his glass, looked at it, smelt it, then decided to drink.
“That comes from Holland,” said he, after a long silence.
He did not give any other information. All the Mahés drank with deference. It was rather thick, and they stood surprised, for it tasted of flowers. The women found it very good. As for the men, they would have preferred less sugar. Nevertheless, at the bottom it ended by being strong at the third or fourth glass. The more they drank, the better they liked it. The men became jolly, the women grew funny.
But the Emperor, in spite of his recent quarrels with the Mayor, had gone to hang about the group of Floches.
The biggest cask gave out a dark-red liquor, while they drew from the smallest a liquid white as water from the rock; and it was this latter that was the stiff est, a regular pepper, something that skinned the tongue.