"
"I believe you that they don't fill it," says Paradis, exasperated
by the recollection of that ceremony. "The quartermaster-sergeant,
he pours it with his blasted finger in your cup and gives it two
raps on its bottom. Result, you get a third, and your cup's in
mourning with three black bands on top of each other."
"Yes," says Barque, "that's true; but you shouldn't have a cup too
big either, because the chap that's pouring it out for you, he
suspects you, and let's it go in damned drops, and so as not to give
you more than your measure he gives you less, and you can whistle
for it. with your tureen in your fists."
Volpatte puts back in his pockets, one by one, the items of his
display. When he came to the purse, he looked at it with an air of
deep compassion.
"He's damnably flat, poor chap!" He counted the contents. "Three
francs! My boy, I most set about feathering this nest again or I
shall be stony when we get back."
"You're not the only one that's broken-backed in the treasury."
"The soldier spends more than he earns, and don't you forget it. I
wonder what'd become of a man that only had his pay?"
Paradis replies with concise simplicity, "He'd kick the bucket."
"And see here, look what I've got in my pocket and never let go
of"--Pepin, with merry eyes, shows us some silver
table-things. "They belonged," he says, "to the ugly trollop where
we were quartered at Grand-Rozoy."
"Perhaps they still belong to her?"
Pepin made an uncertain gesture, in which pride mingled with
modesty; then, growing bolder, he smiled and said, "I knew her, the
old sneak.
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