“One may be a valet, and yet have one’s own share of good luck, and also know how to spend the time more or less profitably,” answered François, bridling as he spoke. “And you, Champagne?” “Oh, I,” replied the last comer, holding his wine up to the light, “yes, I too hope to make good use of it.” “Well, then, here’s to all your love affairs! since everybody seems to have one or more on hand,” said Thibault. “The same to yours!” replied the two other men in chorus. “As to myself,” said the shoe-maker, a look of hatred to his fellow creatures passing over his face, “I am the only person who loves nobody, and whom nobody loves.” His companion looked at him with a certain surprised curiosity. “Ah! ah!” said François, “is the report that is whispered abroad about you in the country-side a true tale then?” “Report about me?” “Yes, about you,” put in Champagne. “Oh, then they say the same thing about me at Mont-Gobert as they do at Vauparfond?” Champagne nodded his head. “Well, and what is it they do say?” “That you are a were-wolf,” said François. Thibault laughed aloud. “Tell me, now, have I a tail?” he said, “have I a wolf’s claws, have I a wolf’s snout?” “We only repeat what other people say,” rejoined Champagne, “we do not say that it is so.” “Well, anyhow, you must acknowledge,” said Thibault, “that were-wolves have excellent wine.” “By my faith, yes!” exclaimed both the valets. “To the health of the devil who provides it, gentlemen.” The two men who were holding their glasses in their hand, put both glasses down on the table. “What is that for?” asked Thibault. “You must find someone else to drink that health with you,” said François, “I won’t, that’s flat!” “Nor I,” added Champagne. “Well and good then! I will drink all three glasses myself,” and he immediately proceeded to do so. “Friend Thibault,” said the Baron’s valet, “it is time we separated.” “So soon?” said Thibault. “My master is awaiting me, and no doubt with some impatience ... the letter, Champagne?” “Here it is.” “Let us take farewell then of your friend Thibault, and be off to our business and our pleasures, and leave him to his pleasures and business.” And so saying, François winked at his friend, who responded with a similar sign of understanding between them. “We must not separate,” said Thibault, “without drinking a stirrup-cup together.” “But not in those glasses,” said François, pointing to the three from which Thibault had drunk to the enemy of mankind. “You are very particular, gentlemen; better call the sacristan and have them washed in holy water.” “Not quite that, but rather than refuse the polite invitation of a friend, we will call for the waiter, and have fresh glasses brought.”