"Oh! mon Dieu!" cried Athalie, pressing against her neighbor; "how you frightened me with your cork!" "The storm seems to frighten you terribly, my dear love," said Madame Destival, with a sneer. "Oh, yes! terribly!" "My wife's nerves are extremely sensitive." "Look out, you're not pouring into the glass, Destival." "That confounded flash dazzled me. Will your charming wife have some?" "Yes, I'm very fond of champagne. Please make it foam a lot, monsieur." "Here you are, belle dame.--Come, Dalville, drink with madame." "That is just what monsieur is doing," said Madame Destival spitefully. "And you, Monin, pass your glass." "Oh! I was just going to say that I must go; my wife's afraid of thunder." "Why, your wife's making pickles, you know; she's busy." "But when it thunders she drops everything and crawls under a woolen quilt, and if I shouldn't go to see how she is--Oh! what a crash! it came very soon after the lightning, so the storm can't be far away." "Suppose we have a little music?" said Monsieur Destival, helping himself to a third glass of champagne, in order to recover his courage; "it seems to me that that wouldn't be a bad idea. What do you say, Dalville?" Auguste had stooped to pick up his knife, which he had dropped under the table for the second time. "Monsieur is awkward to-day," said Madame Destival, rising from the table with a gesture of impatience; "I believe that we shall do well to go up to the salon." At that moment the clouds broke, the rain fell in torrents, and the fields assumed a novel aspect. Everybody rose; the petite-maîtresse leaned heavily on Auguste's arm, because the storm had taken away all her strength. Monsieur de la Thomassinière, desirous to play the scholar, because he thought that his companions were no more learned than he, went to one of the windows and declared that the storm would not be _consequential_ because the atmosphere was very beautiful at sunset. Auguste could not restrain a slight laugh, which caused the trembling Athalie to press his arm all the harder. Monsieur Destival, who had recovered his spirits in some measure since the rain began, which made the storm much less dangerous, executed a half wheel to the left of the company, and charged up the stairs at the double-quick. Monin was left alone in the dining-room, folding his napkin as a matter of habit, and muttering as he listened to the rain: "It's coming down hard, and I haven't any umbrella, and they've made a hole in the top of my cap! so what am I going to do?" Having taken snuff two or three times, our friend decided to address Julie, who had just passed through the room. He followed her, calling after her: "I beg pardon, mademoiselle, but couldn't you----" As Julie did not reply, Monin followed her to the kitchen, where Bertrand was drinking with Baptiste and Monsieur de la Thomassinière's three tall footmen, who did not agree with their master that the beaune was too new.