The glasses were handed us, and Zunnier, who observed nothing, tried to open a conversation with the students; but they excused themselves, and, one after another, went out. I saw that they hated us, but dared not show it.
The gazette spoke of an armistice, after two new victories at Bautzen and Wurtschen. This armistice commenced on the sixth of June, and a conference was then being held at Prague, in Bohemia, to arrange on terms of peace. All this naturally gave me pleasure. I thought of again seeing home. But Zunnier, with his habit of thinking aloud, filled the hall with his reflections, and interrupted me at every line.
"An armistice!" he cried. "Do we want an armistice, after having beaten those Prussians and Russians three times? We should annihilate them! Would they give us an armistice if they had beaten us? There, Joseph, you see the emperor's character—he is too good. It is his only fault. He did the same thing after Austerlitz, and we had to begin over again. I tell you, he is too good and if he were not so, we should have been masters of Europe."
As he spoke, he looked around as if seeking assent; but the students scowled, and no one replied.
At last Zunnier rose.
"Come, Joseph," said he; "I know nothing of politics, but I insist that we should give no armistice to those beggars. When they are down, we should keep them there."
After we had paid our reckoning, and were once more in the street, he continued:
"I do not know what was the matter with those people to-day. We must have disturbed them in something."
"It is very possible," I replied. "They certainly did not seem like the good-natured folks you were speaking of."
"No," said he. "The students, long ago, used to pass their time drinking with us. We sang Fanfan la Tulipe and 'King Dagobert' together, which are not political songs, you know. But these fellows are good for nothing."