One morning as he was eating his luncheon with the servants the door opened and the mayor of the commune, Maitre Chicot, appeared, followed by a soldier wearing a black copper-pointed helmet.  Saint Anthony bounded to his feet and his servants all looked at him, expecting to see him slash the Prussian.  But he merely shook hands with the mayor, who said: 

“Here is one for you, Saint Anthony.  They came last night.  Don’t do anything foolish, above all things, for they talked of shooting and burning everything if there is the slightest unpleasantness, I have given you warning.  Give him something to eat; he looks like a good fellow.  Good-day.  I am going to call on the rest.  There are enough for all.”  And he went out.

Father Anthony, who had turned pale, looked at the Prussian.  He was a big, young fellow with plump, white skin, blue eyes, fair hair, unshaven to his cheek bones, who looked stupid, timid and good.  The shrewd Norman read him at once, and, reassured, he made him a sign to sit down.  Then he said:  “Will you take some soup?”

The stranger did not understand.  Anthony then became bolder, and pushing a plateful of soup right under his nose, he said:  “Here, swallow that, big pig!”

The soldier answered “Ya,” and began to eat greedily, while the farmer, triumphant, feeling he had regained his reputation, winked his eye at the servants, who were making strange grimaces, what with their terror and their desire to laugh.

When the Prussian had devoured his soup, Saint Anthony gave him another plateful, which disappeared in like manner; but he flinched at the third which the farmer tried to insist on his eating, saying:  “Come, put that into your stomach; ’twill fatten you or it is your own fault, eh, pig!”

The soldier, understanding only that they wanted to make him eat all his soup, laughed in a contented manner, making a sign to show that he could not hold any more.

Then Saint Anthony, become quite familiar, tapped him on the stomach, saying:  “My, there is plenty in my pig’s belly!” But suddenly he began to writhe with laughter, unable to speak.  An idea had struck him which made him choke with mirth.  “That’s it, that’s it, Saint Anthony and his pig.  There’s my pig!” And the three servants burst out laughing in their turn.

The old fellow was so pleased that he had the brandy brought in, good stuff, ‘fil en dix’, and treated every one.  They clinked glasses with the Prussian, who clacked his tongue by way of flattery to show that he enjoyed it.  And Saint Anthony exclaimed in his face:  “Eh, is not that superfine?  You don’t get anything like that in your home, pig!”

From that time Father Anthony never went out without his Prussian.  He had got what he wanted.  This was his vengeance, the vengeance of an old rogue.  And the whole countryside, which was in terror, laughed to split its sides at Saint Anthony’s joke.  Truly, there was no one like him when it came to humor.  No one but he would have thought of a thing like that.  He was a born joker!