The key turned twice in the lock with a rusty sound, which the brothers could distinguish from any other sound in the world, and an atmosphere redolent of wine and mould met them as they entered.  The Consul shut the door, and said, “There now, the world will have to get on without us for a little while.”  The inner wine-cellar looked as if it were considerably older than the house itself, and the groined roof had a resemblance to the cloister of an old monastery.  It was so low that Richard had to bend his head a little, and even the Consul felt inclined to stoop when he was down there.

In the old bins lay bottles of different shapes covered with dust and cobwebs, and in the recess of what had been a grated window, but was now walled up on the outside, there stood two old long-stemmed Dutch glasses, while in one corner there lay a large wine-cask.  In front of the cask was placed an empty tub, between an armchair without a back, and from the seat of which the horsehair was protruding, and an ancient rocking-horse that had lost its rockers.

The brothers put down their lights on the bottom of the tub, and took off their coats, which they hung each on their own peg.

“Well, what’s it to be to-day?” said Christian Frederick, rubbing his hands.

“Port wouldn’t be bad,” suggested Richard, examining the bin.

“Port wine would be first-rate,” answered the Consul, holding out his light.  “But look, there’s a row of bottles lying in here that we have never tried.  I should like to know what they are.”

“I dare say it is some of my grandmother’s raspberry vinegar,” suggested Richard.

“Nonsense!  Do you suppose father would have hidden away raspberry vinegar in this cellar?”

“Perhaps he was as fond of old things as some other people I know,” answered Richard.

“You always are so sarcastic,” muttered the Consul.  “I wish we could get at these bottles.”

“You’ll have to creep in after them, Christian Frederick.  I am too stout.”

“All right,” answered his brother, taking off his watch and heavy bunch of seals.  And the old gentleman crept into the bin with the utmost care.  “Now I’ve got one,” he cried.

“Take two while you are about it.”

“Yes; but you will have to take hold of my legs and pull me out.”

“Avec plaisir!” answered Richard.  “But won’t you have a drop of Burgundy before you come out?”

There must have been some joke hidden in the question, for the Consul began to laugh; but before long he stammered out, “I am choking, Dick; will you pull me out, you fiend?”

The joke about the Burgundy was as follows.  Once when the young Consul had crept in among the bottles, to look for something very particular, he managed to knock his head against one which lay in the rack above so hard that it broke, and the whole bottle of Burgundy ran down his neck.  Every time any allusion was made to this mishap, a meaning smile passed between the brothers, and Richard was even so careless as sometimes to allude to it when others were present.  For instance, if they were sitting at dinner, and the conversation turned upon red wines, he would say, “Well, my brother has his own peculiar way of drinking Burgundy;” and then would follow a series of mysterious allusions and laughter between the two, which usually ended in a fit of coughing.