I demurred to this proposition; but the Waterloo man was down on me in no time. "Yes, yes; the wines of the great houses--the great proprietors. _Sacré!_--the _farceurs_--the _blageurs_--who puff their wines, and get them puffed, and great prices for them, when they're not better than ours--the peasant's wines--when they're grown in the same ground--ripened by the same sun! _Mille diables!_ Look at that bottle!--taste it! My son-in-law grew it. My son-in-law sells it; I know all about it. You shall have that bottle for ten sous, and the Lafitte people and the Larose people would charge you ten francs for it; and it is as good for ten sous as theirs for ten francs. I tell you it grew side by side with their vines; but they have capital--they have power. They crack off their wines, and we--the poor people!--we, who trim and dig and work our little patches--no one knows anything about us. Our wine--bah!--what is it? It has no name--no fame! Who will give us francs? No, no; sous for the poor man--francs for the rich. Copper for the little landlord; silver--silver and gold for the big landlord! As our curé said last Sunday: 'Unto him who has much, more shall be given.' _Sacré Dieu de dieux!_--Even the Bible goes against the poor!" All this time, the old sailor was tugging his comrade's jacket, and uttering sundry deprecatory ejaculations against such unnecessary vehemence. The Trafalgar man was clearly a take-it-easy personage; not troubled by too much thinking, and by no means a professional grievance-monger. So he interposed to bring back the topic to a more soothing subject, and said that what he would like, would be to see lots of English ships coming up the Gironde with the good cottons and woollens and hardwares we made in England, and taking back in exchange their cheap and wholesome wines--not only the great vintages (_crus_) for the great folk, but the common vintages for the common folk. "Indeed, I think," he concluded, "that sitting here drinking this good ten sous' wine with this English gentleman--who's going to pay for it--is far better than fighting him and hacking him up, or his hacking us up, with swords and balls and so forth." To this most sensible opinion we had all the pains in the world to get the doughty lancer to incline. He couldn't see it at all. He would like to have another brush. He wasn't half done for yet. It was all very well; but war was grand, and glory was grand. "_Vive la guerre!_" and "_Vive la gloire!_" "But," said the sailor, "there is death in glory!" "_Eh bien!_" shouted the warrior, with as perfect French sentiment as ever I heard, "_Vive la mort!_"