“Then Matthew, who is not laughing any longer, plants himself opposite her and says in a severe tone: 

“‘Be still, Melie; this is no time to talk; wait till to-morrow.’

“If she keeps on shouting at him, he goes up to her and says in a shaky voice: 

“’Don’t bawl any more.  I have had about ninety; I am not counting any more.  Look out, I am going to hit you!’

“Then Melie beats a retreat.

“If, on the following day, she reverts to the subject, he laughs in her face and says: 

“’Come, come!  We have said enough.  It is past.  As long as I have not reached my limit there is no harm done.  But if I go, past that I will allow you to correct me, my word on it!’”

We had reached the top of the hill.  The road entered the delightful forest of Roumare.

Autumn, marvellous autumn, blended its gold and purple with the remaining traces of verdure.  We passed through Duclair.  Then, instead of going on to Jumieges, my friend turned to the left and, taking a crosscut, drove in among the trees.

And presently from the top of a high hill we saw again the magnificent valley of the Seine and the winding river beneath us.

At our right a very small slate-covered building, with a bell tower as large as a sunshade, adjoined a pretty house with green Venetian blinds, and all covered with honeysuckle and roses.

“Here are some friends!” cried a big voice, and Matthew appeared on the threshold.  He was a man about sixty, thin and with a goatee and long, white mustache.

My friend shook him by the hand and introduced me, and Matthew took us into a clean kitchen, which served also as a dining-room.  He said: 

“I have no elegant apartment, monsieur.  I do not like to get too far away from the food.  The saucepans, you see, keep me company.”  Then, turning to my friend: 

“Why did you come on Thursday?  You know quite well that this is the day I consult my Guardian Saint.  I cannot go out this afternoon.”

And running to the door, he uttered a terrific roar:  “Melie!” which must have startled the sailors in the ships along the stream in the valley below.

Melie did not reply.

Then Matthew winked his eye knowingly.

“She is not pleased with me, you see, because yesterday I was in the nineties.”

My friend began to laugh.  “In the nineties, Matthew!  How did you manage it?”

“I will tell you,” said Matthew.  “Last year I found only twenty rasieres (an old dry measure) of apricots.  There are no more, but those are the only things to make cider of.  So I made some, and yesterday I tapped the barrel.  Talk of nectar!  That was nectar.  You shall tell me what you think of it.  Polyte was here, and we sat down and drank a glass and another without being satisfied (one could go on drinking it until to-morrow), and at last, with glass after glass, I felt a chill at my stomach.  I said to Polyte:  ‘Supposing we drink a glass of cognac to warm ourselves?’ He agreed.  But this cognac, it sets you on fire, so that we had to go back to the cider.  But by going from chills to heat and heat to chills, I saw that I was in the nineties.  Polyte was not far from his limit.”