An hour later the cot-bed had arrived for Madame Cardinal, to whom the inquisitive portress offered her services to bring her something to eat.
“Do you want to see the rector?” Madame Cardinal inquired of her uncle.
She had noticed that the arrival of the bed seemed to draw him from his somnolence.
“I want wine!” replied the pauper.
“How do you feel now, Pere Toupillier?” asked Madame Perrache, in a coaxing voice.
“I tell you I want wine,” repeated the old man, with an energetic insistence scarcely to be expected of his feebleness.
“We must first find out if it is good for you, uncle,” said Madame Cardinal, soothingly. “Wait till the doctor comes.”
“Doctor! I won’t have a doctor!” cried Toupillier; “and you, what are you doing here? I don’t want anybody.”
“My good uncle, I came to know if you’d like something tasty. I’ve got some nice fresh soles—hey! a bit of fried sole, with a squeeze of lemon on it?”
“Your fish, indeed!” cried Toupillier; “all rotten! That last you brought me, more than six weeks ago, it is there in the cupboard; you can take it away with you.”