"Peasant, I have seven children to feed, and as they must eat I must not drink."
And he added with the satisfaction of a serious man who is laying down an axiom,—
"Their hunger is the enemy of my thirst."
The hearse left the main avenue, and turned down a smaller one, which indicated the immediate proximity of the grave. Fauchelevent reduced his pace, but could not reduce that of the hearse. Fortunately, the ground was saturated with winter rains, and rendered their progress slower. He drew closer to the grave-digger.
"There is such a capital Argenteuil wine," he muttered.
"Villager," the man replied, "I was not meant to be a grave-digger. My father was porter at the 'Prytanæum,' and destined me for literature, but he was unfortunate in his speculations on the Exchange. Hence I was compelled to relinquish the profession of author, but I am still a public writer."
"Then you are not a grave-digger?" Fauchelevent retorted, clinging to this very weak branch.
"One does not prevent the other. I cumulate." Fauchelevent did not understand the last word.
"Let us go to drink," he said.
Here a remark is necessary. Fauchelevent, however great his agony might be, proposed drinking, but did not explain himself on one point. Who was to pay? As a general rule, Fauchelevent proposed, and Father Mestienne paid. A proposal to drink evidently resulted from the new situation created by the new grave-digger, and that proposal the gardener must make; but he left, not undesignedly, the proverbial quarter of an hour called Rabelais' in obscurity. However affected Fauchelevent might be, he did not feel anxious to pay.