I rushed for it, poured some into the tin
cup held out to me, and just as the poor fellow was about to drink,
his comrade pulled the cup away, smelt it, and exclaimed, "Don't drink
that--here, put some water in it. That's not cider. It's eau de vie
des prunes."
I can tell you I was startled. I had never tasted eau de vie des
prunes,--a native brew, stronger than brandy, and far more
dangerous,--and my Irishman had pulled off a full champagne glass at a
gulp, and never winked. No wonder he fell off his wheel. The wonder is
that he did not die on the spot. I was humiliated. Still, he was Irish
and perhaps he didn't care. I hope he didn't. But only think, he will
never know that I did not do it on purpose. He was probably gloriously
drunk. Anyway, it prevented his coming back to make that visit he
threatened me with.
The detachment of the regiment which staggered past my gate camped in
the fields below me and in the courtyards at Voisins, and the rest of
them made themselves comfortable in the fields at the other side of the
hill and the outbuildings on Amelie's place, and the officers and the
ambulance corps began to seek their quarters.
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