“Phew! You could make yourself useful in other ways,” M. Raindal said.
“True!...” Schleifmann said in a low voice, as if he were addressing his own soul. “In 1871, the Commune came!”
But Cyprien missed the tragic retort. He was already lost in joyful thoughts of the morrow. He imagined with glee how stupefied his brother would be when he heard: “Well! How is old Herschstein! And that charming Mme. Pums?... and the honorable M. Burzig!...” He laughed so loudly that he apologized to Schleifmann.
“Forgive me, I was thinking of something so funny.... Ha, ha! It is wonderful!”
He felt moved to show his gratitude:
“Here, Schleifmann, you will not refuse a glass of kirchenwasser?... Garçon, kirchenwasser and two glasses, two big ones, customers’ glasses, you know!...”
The waiter returned with a bottle protected by a cover of twisted straw. Cyprien poured two big drinks and lifted his glass to touch that of his friend.
“To humanity, Schleifmann!” he said courteously.
“To France!” the Galician replied, and they toasted.
At the same time, the Raindal family were making their entry into the salon of Mme. Chambannes.