"Yes. Suppose I have several mistresses. If I don't name the one we drink to what good will it do her?"
"Why, that's true!"
"Sad; but you'll have to try again, my friend."
"Ha! Try again, of course! Can't do things half-way with a man like you.
The sin's committed; we'll drink again." And Antoine held out his glass.
Montbar filled it to the brim.
"Now," said Antoine, eying the bottle, and making sure it was empty, "there must be no mistake. Her name?"
"To the beautiful Josephine!" said Montbar.
"To the beautiful Josephine!" repeated Antoine.
And he swallowed the Burgundy with increasing satisfaction. Then, after drinking, and wiping his lips on his sleeve, he said, as he set the glass on the table: "Hey! one moment, citizen."
"What now?" exclaimed Montbar. "Anything wrong this time?"
"I should say so. We've made a great blunder but it's too late now."
"Why so?"
"The bottle is empty."
"That one, yes; but not this one."
So saying, Montbar took from the chimney corner another bottle, already uncorked.
"Ah! ah!" exclaimed Antoine, a radiant smile lighting his face.
"Is there any remedy for it?" asked Montbar.
"There is," replied Antoine, holding out his glass.
Montbar filled it as scrupulously full as he had the first three.
"Well," said the postilion, holding the ruby liquid to the light and admiring its sparkle, "as I was saying, we drank to the health of the beautiful Josephine--"
"Yes," said Montbar.
"But," said Antoine, "there are a devilish lot of Josephines in France."
"True. How many do you suppose there are, Antoine?"
"Perhaps a hundred thousand."
"Granted. What then?"
"Well, out of that hundred thousand a tenth of them must be beautiful."
"That's a good many."
"Say a twentieth."
"All right."
"That makes five thousand."
"The devil! You're strong in arithmetic!"
"I'm the son of a schoolmaster."
"Well?"
"Well, to which of those five thousand did we drink, hey?"
"You're right, Antoine. The family name must follow. To the beautiful Josephine--"
"Stop. This glass was begun; it won't do. If the health is to do her any good, we'll have to empty it and fill it again."
He put the glass to his lips.
"There, it's empty," he said.
"And full," added Montbar, putting the bottle to the glass.
"I'm ready. To the beautiful Josephine--"
"To the beautiful Josephine--Lollier!"
And Montbar emptied his glass.
"By the Lord!" exclaimed Antoine. "Wait a moment. Josephine Lollier!
Why, I know her."
"I didn't say you didn't."
"Josephine Lollier! Why, she's the daughter of the man who keeps the post-horses at Belleville."
"Exactly."
"Damn it!" exclaimed the postilion, "you're not to be pitied--a pretty slip of a girl! To the health of beautiful Josephine Lollier."
And he swallowed his fifth glass of Burgundy.
"Now," asked Montbar, "do you understand why I had you sent up here, my lad?"