"I believe it. . . . Unfortunate lamb! . . . where were you straying, God of heaven!" "As I ate but little, the baron said to me, 'You have dined, then?' 'No sir,' I answered, 'but the Scripture says: _Be not eager at the feast._'" . . . "Well answered . . . to this glutton; my child, you might have added as a prediction that sleeplessness, and colic, and pains in the belly, are the inheritance of the intemperate,[18] and that is truly what I wish to him, the wicked brute!" "Then, madame, he gave me a great glass filled with pure wine, telling me to pledge him. . . . 'But, sir,' said I, 'I never drink clear wine.' Then, madame, he shouted with laughter, and answered me: 'That's no matter . . . drink away' . . . to your mistress!'" "To say such things to a child of that age! What abominable corruption!" and the _conseillère_ lifted up her hands to heaven. "I did not understand what the baron said to me; I touched my lips to the great glass, and put it back on the table without drinking a drop. Then the baron looked me through and through, saying, in a loud voice, 'You do not drink wine, you eat nothing, you do not talk. Perhaps you would be more communicative between a tankard of kirchenwasser and a pipe well filled with tobacco.'" "Kirchenwasser! a pipe! oh, the old sinner! to want to impart his odious barrack tastes to this youth, who seems more like a young girl than a young man!" "But" I answered the baron, 'I never drink strong liquors, and I have never smoked.' . . . Then he began to swear--and how he did swear!--till I was ashamed for him, and he said: 'You don't smoke, you don't drink; I see that we shall not come to an understanding, for I interest myself only in people who resemble me! At least you hunt?' 'Yes sir, I have shot larks with a mirror.' Then, madame, he began to laugh, and to swear harder than ever, and said: 'Young man, excuse my frankness, but the Lord of Henferester would rather never touch wine, a bridle, or a gun again, than to take the part of a shooter of larks. . . I can do nothing for you.' And so, madame, I quitted the baron, and came away in utter despair." "And Doctor Sphex,--have you seen him?" asked Martha, thoughtfully. "Yes, madame, but he asked me, the first thing, if I was acquainted with profane literature . . . and a certain heathen author named Persius, which I have been told is improper for one of my age to read. I told him no; then he said that my cause was bad, and that my adversaries had the right of the case. . . . So I saw that there was no more hope in that quarter than in the other." The _conseillère_ felt profoundly moved. "Listen, my child!" said she; "you interest me more than I can tell you. . . . I am pained to see the other councillors so opposed to your interests; I can do nothing with them; all that I can do, is to endeavor to secure for you my husband's vote." . . .