"Well, well, what's the matter?" said he, with a loud laugh which was a long while dying out. "Upon my soul, your saucy wine has done its work! Give me your hand, pray, my friend, so that I may be able to stand up."
Arnauld courageously went about hoisting him up, and at last succeeded in getting him on his legs, but not in a posture of classical equilibrium.
"Hallo, there! what a number of lanterns!" cried Martin. "Oh, what a fool I am! I took the stars for lanterns."
Then he began to sing at the top of his voice,—
"Par ta foy, envoyras-tu pas
Au vin, pour fournir le repas
Du meilleur cabaret d'enfer
Le vieil ravasseur Lucifer?"[1]
"Don't make such an infernal noise!" cried Arnauld; "suppose some party of the enemy should be passing near, and hear you?"
"Basta! I'm not afraid of them," said Martin; "what could they do to me? Hang me? It must be very fine to be hanged. You have made me drink too much, comrade. I, who am commonly as sober as a judge, don't know how to fight against drunkenness, and then, besides, I had been fasting, and I was almost starved; now I am thirsty."
"'Par ta foy, envoyras-tu pas—'"
"Be still!" said Arnauld. "Come, try to walk. Don't you mean to put up for the night at Auvray?"
"Oh, yes, I want to put up for the night," said Martin, "but not at Auvray; down here on the grass, beneath God's lanterns."