"Look sharp here, Buteau!" called the old man. "Here's this donkey of yours up to fine tricks!"
Buteau appeared at the kitchen door.
"What's the matter?" he asked.
"Gédéon's swilled all the wine up!"
Amid this shouting, the donkey quietly finished sucking up the liquor. He had probably been at work for the last quarter of an hour, for the bucket held some four or five gallons. Every drop of the wine had been drunk, and Gédéon's belly was as round as a bottle, and seemed on the point of bursting. When at last he raised his head, his tipsy nose was dripping with wine, and there was a red line across it, just under his eyes, showing how far he had dipped his phiz into the liquor.
"Oh, the brute!" roared Buteau, rushing up; "it's just like his tricks. There never was a creature so full of vice."
Generally, when Gédéon heard himself reproached for his vices, he assumed an air of contemptuous indifference, and leisurely spread out his broad ears; but to-day he seemed completely intoxicated, and lost to all sense of respect, for he positively sniggered as he wagged his head about, thus shamelessly expressing the enjoyment he had derived from his debauchery. He stumbled when his master gave him a violent shove, and would have fallen if Fouan had not propped him up with his shoulder.
"The damned pig is dead drunk!" cried Buteau.
"'Drunk as an ass!' This is the moment to apply the proverb," remarked Hyacinthe, who grinned merrily as he gazed at the animal with sympathetic admiration. "A bucketful at a draught! What a magnificent swallow!"