"Sir," said Le Mesge, very much excited, "cooks should be left in peace. Jesus, whom I consider as good a theologian as you, understood that, and it never occurred to him to call Martha away from her oven to talk nonsense to her."
"Exactly so," said the Hetman approvingly.
He was holding a jar between his knees and trying to draw its cork.
"Oh, Côtes Rôties, wines from the Côte-Rôtie!" he murmured to me as he finally succeeded. "Touch glasses."
"Koukou denies transubstantiation," the pastor continued, sadly emptying his glass.
"Eh!" said the Hetman of Jitomir in my ear, "let them talk on. Don't you see that they are quite drunk?"
His own voice was thick. He had the greatest difficulty in the world in filling my goblet to the brim.
I wanted to push the pitcher away. Then an idea came to me:
"At this very moment, Morhange.... Whatever he may say.... She is so beautiful."
I reached out for the glass and emptied it once more.