"And also to pass a hard day of hunting in the depths of the forest. Devil take the coxcomb who prefers balls and gallantry to the bottle, the pipe and hunting. If you wish to prove to me that your dogs are as good as they are handsome, baron, you will see that I am worthy to follow them."
"That's right, my guest! To-morrow morning, by daylight, we will be ready for the chase."
"Let it be as you say, baron; we will speak of the lawsuit day after to-morrow, not before—remember—the pint of water to him who speaks of it before."
"Bravo, my guest!" said the baron, "but it is late, and you are fatigued; old Selbitz will conduct you to your chamber,—that is to say, a kind of room furnished with a paltry bed, which is all I have to offer you. . . . My chamber is still worse."
"Ah, well, no ceremony, baron; rather than give you any trouble, I will take one of my boots for a bolster; you will give me an armful of straw, and I shall pass a comfortable night before this fire, which will burn until morning."
"I have thus passed many nights in the huts of charcoal burners," said the baron, with a sigh of regret, "when I was hunting in the Black Forest; but in fact, my friend, however bad your bed may be, you will find it more comfortable than this floor, beaten down like a threshing-ground."
"To-morrow morning, baron, I will myself sound the reveille" said the Marquis; "but before that, let me sound the good-night." And Létorière, taking from the wall the governor's trumpet, gave this last flourish with such perfection, with such a bold and free hunting air, that the baron enthusiastically cried:
"In the thirty years I've hunted, I never heard so fine a trumpeter."
"That is easily enough explained, baron; it is because you have never heard yourself sound it. Your trumpet is so true that you cannot help being master of this noble science. But until to-morrow,—baron, good-night, and above all, don't dream of water, or sour wine, or empty bottles."
"Good-night, Marquis!"