"He puts me in mind of Count Ralph, who, you know, monsieur, at about the tenth bottle almost always sings the psalm for the dead," answered Selbitz.
"Come, Marquis, to the first wild boar that we shall take!" said the baron, wishing to strike a last blow at the Marquis's reason.
"Let's drink!" said Létorière, who began from that time to show slight symptoms of intoxication, speaking by turns slowly and rapidly, sadly and joyfully. "The chase, baron—'tis good, the chase . . . wine also . . . it stupefies—it transports, gives no time for thought; and then it makes one gay, and at last . . . but, bah! hold on, baron, I must tell you something in confidence." . . .
"What, confidences so soon?" cried the major-domo. "That's like the minister at Blumenthal,—but his reverence does not begin before the eighth tankard. You remember, my lord, the good story he told us of the jolly miller's wife of Val-aux-Primevères?"
"Hold your tongue, and listen!" said the governor; who replied aloud, "speak, speak, Marquis! Come, let's drink to your confidences." . . .
"Well, then, baron, imagine that my lawsuit has turned my brain." . . .
"Truly, Marquis!" said he aloud. "I'm sure of it," he continued in a low voice . . . "this poor boy wishes to drown his thoughts." . . .
"True, as that my glass is empty. . . . I wouldn't tell you this, baron . . . but you are my friend . . . I ought to confide in you. . . . Know that I have made a visit to my judges." . . .
"Ah, bah!" said the baron, gratified with his guest's involuntary communicativeness, and very eager to draw from him the secret, perhaps, of his visits. "You have seen your judges, have you?"
"Yes, baron, the first one was named . . . Spectre." . . .