Pauli drank another glass, smacked his lips, and said:
'What a wine! What a wine! Every glass tastes better than the last. It's like a good friend whom the more we know the better we love. But, Brühl, when the post comes, and his Majesty calls me, if it should be necessary for me to write a letter to Berlin or Vienna--'
In the meanwhile he poured out the third glass.
'Such a small bottle for you is nothing; it is only a stimulans.'
'Brühl, you are right. I have drunk more than that in my life.' He laughed. 'The worst thing is to mix the drinks. Who knows in what relation they stand to each other? There might meet two bitter foes, for instance, the French with German wine; they begin to fight in the stomach and head, and the man suffers. But when one drinks an honest, intelligent, matured wine, then there is no danger, it does no harm.'
Speaking thus the councillor ate the meat, drank the Tokay and smiled again. Brühl stood, looked, and when the glass was empty, he filled it once more.
At length the food having all disappeared, there remained only the wine.
Pauli sighed and mumbled:
'But the letters!'
'Would you be afraid?'