I'll warrant it won't make you weep." And filling a glass, Montbar signed to the postilion to fill the other.
"A fine honor for me! To your health and that of your company!" This was an habitual phrase of the worthy postilion, a sort of extension of politeness which did not need the presence of others to justify it in his eyes.
"Ha!" said he, after drinking and smacking his lips, "there's vintage for you--and I have gulped it down at a swallow as if it were heel-taps!" "That was a mistake, Antoine." "Yes, it was a mistake." "Luckily," said Montbar, refilling his glass, "you can repair it." "No higher than my thumb, citizen," said the facetious postilion, taking care that his thumb touched the rim of the glass.
"One minute," said Montbar, just as Antoine was putting his glass to his lips.
"Just in time," said the postilion; "it was on its way.

What is it ?" "You wouldn't let me drink to the health of your mistress, but I hope you won't refuse to drink to mine." "Oh! that's never refused, especially with such wine.

To the health of your mistress and her company." Thereupon citizen Antoine swallowed the crimson liquor, tasting and relishing it this time.
"Hey!" exclaimed Montbar, "you're in too much of a hurry, my friend." "Pooh!" retorted the postilion.
"Yes.

Suppose I have several mistresses.

If I don't name the one we drink to what good will it do her ?" "Why, that's true!" "Sad; but you'll have to try again, my friend." "Ha! Try again, of course! Can't do things half-way with a man like you.
The sin's committed; we'll drink again." And Antoine held out his glass.
Montbar filled it to the brim.
"Now," said Antoine, eying the bottle, and making sure it was empty, "there must be no mistake.