“Get me some black-currant ratafia.”
Too excited, however, to remain long in one place, he got up, looked at the portrait of Monsieur de la Bertelliere, and began to sing, doing what Nanon called his dancing steps,—
“Dans les gardes francaises
J’avais un bon papa.”
Nanon, Madame Grandet, and Eugenie looked at each other in silence. The hilarity of the master always frightened them when it reached its climax. The evening was soon over. Pere Grandet chose to go to bed early, and when he went to bed, everybody else was expected to go too; like as when Augustus drank, Poland was drunk. On this occasion Nanon, Charles, and Eugenie were not less tired than the master. As for Madame Grandet, she slept, ate, drank, and walked according to the will of her husband. However, during the two hours consecrated to digestion, the cooper, more facetious than he had ever been in his life, uttered a number of his own particular apothegms,—a single one of which will give the measure of his mind. When he had drunk his ratafia, he looked at his glass and said,—
“You have no sooner put your lips to a glass than it is empty! Such is life. You can’t have and hold. Gold won’t circulate and stay in your purse. If it were not for that, life would be too fine.”
He was jovial and benevolent. When Nanon came with her spinning-wheel, “You must be tired,” he said; “put away your hemp.”
“Ah, bah! then I shall get sleepy,” she answered.
“Poor Nanon! Will you have some ratafia?”
“I won’t refuse a good offer; madame makes it a deal better than the apothecaries. What they sell is all drugs.”
“They put too much sugar,” said the master; “you can’t taste anything else.”