'You are right, if I were afraid, I should be a coward, and that is a despicable thing. Fill up! To your health! You shall get on! It's brighter in my head! It seems that the sun has come out from beneath the clouds, for everything looks brighter. I feel as if I could write more fluently than ever!'
Brühl filled the glass constantly.
The councillor looked at the bottle, and observing that it was larger at the bottom, promised himself that the wine would last still for some time.
'I have nothing to be afraid of,' said Pauli as though wishing to reassure himself. 'I don't know whether you remember or not. I remember once on a very warm day, when his Majesty was writing to that unfortunate Cosel, I drank some treacherous wine. It tasted as good as this Tokay, but it was treacherous. When I went out into the street my head swam. It was too bad, for I was obliged to write the letters. Two courtiers seized my arms--it seemed to me that I was flying; they put me at the table, they put a pen in my hand the paper before me; the King said a few words and I wrote an excellent letter. But if you killed me I could not remember what I wrote then. Suffice it that the letter was good, and the King, laughing, gave me a magnificent ring as a souvenir of that day.'
The wine was poured from the bottle to the glass, from the glass into the throat. The councillor smiled.
'Hard service,' he said quietly, 'but the wine is excellent.'
During the conversation the bottle was emptied. The last glass was a little clouded; Brühl wished to push it aside.
'Tyrant!' cried the councillor. 'What are you doing? It is the nature of the wine to have dregs, they are not to be wasted, but exist to hide the virtue which is in it,--the elixir, the essence.'
While Pauli was emptying the last glass, Brühl bent forward and took from under the table another bottle. Seeing it, the councillor wished to rise, but the sight rivetted him to his chair.
'What do I see?' he cried.