“If Vermichel were only here I’d blow in his gullet, and he’d get an idea of sherry wine. Hey! what a wine it is! If I wasn’t a Burgundian I’d be a Spaniard! It’s God’s own wine! the pope says mass with it--Hey! I’m young again! Say, Courtecuisse! if your wife were only here we’d be young together. Don’t tell me! Spanish wine is worth a dozen of boiled wine. Let’s have a revolution if it’s only to empty the cellars!” “But what’s your news, papa?” said Tonsard. “There’ll be no harvest for you; the Shopman has given orders to stop the gleaning.” “Stop the gleaning!” cried the whole tavern, with one voice, in which the shrill tones of the four women predominated. “Yes,” said Mouche, “he is going to issue an order, and Groison is to take it round, and post it up all over the canton. No one is to glean except those who have pauper certificates.” “And what’s more,” said Fourchon, “the folks from the other districts won’t be allowed here at all.” “What’s that?” cried Bonnebault, “do you mean to tell me that neither my grandmother nor I, nor your mother, Godain, can come here and glean? Here’s tomfoolery for you; a pretty show of authority! Why, the fellow is a devil let loose from hell,--that scoundrel of a mayor!” “Shall you glean whether or no, Godain?” said Tonsard to the journeyman wheelwright, who was saying a few words to Catherine. “I? I’ve no property; I’m a pauper,” he replied; “I shall ask for a certificate.” “What did they give my father for his otter, bibi?” said Madame Tonsard to Mouche. Though nearly at his last gasp from an over-taxed digestion and two bottles of wine, Mouche, sitting on Madame Tonsard’s lap, laid his head on his aunt’s neck and whispered slyly in her ear:-- “I don’t know, but he has got gold. If you’ll feed me high for a month, perhaps I can find out his hiding-place; he has one, I know that.” “Father’s got gold!” whispered La Tonsard to her husband, whose voice was loudest in the uproar of the excited discussion, in which all present took part. “Hush! here’s Groison,” cried the old sentinel. Perfect silence reigned in the tavern. When Groison had got to a safe distance, Mother Tonsard made a sign, and the discussion began again on the question as to whether they should persist in gleaning, as before, without a certificate. “You’ll have to give in,” said Pere Fourchon; “for the Shopman has gone to see the prefect and get troops to enforce the order. They’ll shoot you like dogs,--and that’s what we are!” cried the old man, trying to conquer the thickening of his speech produced by his potations of sherry. This fresh announcement, absurd as it was, made all the drinkers thoughtful; they really believed the government capable of slaughtering them without pity.