Bouillon was eating too gluttonously to take a part in the conversation, but he laughed continually for no reason at all, pouring down bumpers of some rather poor wine which the old man had brought us with many sour looks. His face was turning purple, his dog's eyes glistened. How I loved him, taking his share of our animal contentment.
The peasant seated at the end of the room had lit a pipe and was watching us out of the corner of his eye.
"It's stupid to pay!" repeated Guillaumin. "Let's give him an I O U."
His funds must have been coming to an end.
"Don't worry! This is my show!" I said.
In order to avoid any trouble, I had made up my mind to pay whatever the old fellow claimed.
Guillaumin ventured to suggest:
"I say we ought to take something back to De Valpic."
"And to our poilus!"
I called the old man, who got up slowly and came to us looking rather anxious but crafty too.