Behind us, on its grandmother's bed, inside of the curtains, slept our little Esdras, with his sweet face and little clinched hands—slept so soundly, that neither our shouts of laughter, nor the talking, nor the sound of the glasses could wake him. Sometimes one, sometimes another, went to look at him, and everybody said:
"What a beautiful child! He looks like his grandfather Moses!"
That pleased me, of course; and I would go and look at him, bending over him for a long while, and finding a still stronger resemblance to my father.
At three o'clock, the meats having been removed and the delicacies spread upon the table, as we came to the dessert, I went down to find a bottle of better wine, an old bottle of Rousillon which I dug out from under the others, all covered with dust and cobwebs. I took it up carefully and placed it among the flowers on the table, saying:
"You thought the other wine very good; what will you say to this?"
Then Burguet smiled, for old wine was his special delight; he stretched up his hand and exclaimed:
"Oh! noble wine, the consoler, the restorer and benefactor of poor men in this vale of misery! Oh, venerable bottle, thou bearest all the signs of old nobility!"
He said this with his mouth full, and everybody laughed.
I asked Sorlé to bring the corkscrew.
As she was rising, suddenly trumpets sounded without, and we all listened and asked, "What is that?"