--"To me?" --"Yes, if you are Mlle. Elizabeth Rousset?" She became uneasy, reflected a moment, then declared squarely:--"That may be, but I shall not go." There was a movement around her; each discussed and speculated as to the cause of this order. The Count came near her: --"You are wrong, Madame, because your refusal might bring considerable trouble not only to you but also to all your traveling companions. We should never resist those who are the strongest. Assuredly your compliance with this order cannot involve any danger; no doubt you are wanted for some forgotten formality"-- All joined the Count in urging her, pressing her, lecturing her and finally they convinced her; for all of them dreaded complications which might result from insubordination on her part. At last she said: --"I am doing this for your sake, don't forget it." The Countess took her hand: --"And we thank you for it."-- She went out. All waited for her return before they sat down at the table. Each was sorry that he had not been called instead of that violent and irascible girl, and prepared mentally the platitudes he would utter in case he should be called in his turn. But at the end of ten minutes, she came back, out of breath, red to suffocation, exasperated. She was stammering:--"Oh! la Canaille! la Canaille!"[*] [*][Note from Brett: This translates, roughly, into "Oh! the rogue! the rogue!"] All rushed up to her to find out what had happened, but she did not say anything, and as the Count was insisting, she replied with a great deal of dignity:--"No, it does not concern you; I cannot speak..." Then they took their seats around a high soup tureen from which issued a smell of cabbage. In spite of this untoward incident, the supper was cheerful. The cider was good; the Loiseau couple and the Sisters drank of it by economy. the others ordered wine. Cornudet called for a bottle of beer. He had a peculiar way of uncorking the bottle, making the beer foam, examining it as he inclined his glass, which he then raised between the lamp and his eyes in order to appreciate better its color. While drinking, his long beard, that had kept the color of his favorite beverage, seemed to shake with joy; his eyes squinted in his effort not to lose sight of his glass, and he looked as if he were performing the only function for which he had been created. One would have thought that in his mind he established a relationship and a kind of affinity between the two great passions that occupied all his life: Pale Ale and Revolution; and certainly he could not taste the former without dreaming of the latter.