"Ah, ah! a good drink of brandy never did anybody any harm. After that, we will talk over your business, if you have any."
"Ah, yes! I have something very important to talk about," replied the new-comer; "but it is a long story."
"Then begin at once."
"Wait a while, till I recover my breath."
"As long as you like."
As he spoke, the servant reappeared; she removed the bowl and spoon, leaving the brandy on the table. The two old men began by complaining of the weather and the high prices of provisions. Procope lamented considerably over the inconveniences of his trade; and gradually they conversed with frank cordiality.
"You must know," said Iermola, suddenly, not without much internal agitation, "that I am myself the son of a potter. From time immemorial my ancestors owned kilns and made pottery."
"Ah, indeed! really?" answered Procope, with visible astonishment.
"Yes, truly, as I have told you; but my father and mother died when I was quite an infant, and I can barely remember the fact that they worked in pottery. But to-day there is still in our old garden a fine potter's kiln, which is overgrown with grass. As for my paternal property, it has passed into other hands."
"But never in the world was there a potter found among the people of Popielnia."