Nor did he notice that Father Beret, instead
of joining him in the potation, merely lifted his cup and set it
down again, smacking his lips gusto.
There followed a silence, during which the aromatic breath of the
bottle increased its dangerous fascination. Then Father Beret
again filled Farnsworth's cup and said:
"Ah, the blessed monks, little thought they that their matchless
brew would ever be sipped in a poor missionary's hut on the
Wabash! But, after all, my son, why not here as well as in sunny
France? Our object justifies any impropriety of time and place."
"You are right, Father. I drink to our object. Yes, I say, to our
object."
In fact, the drinking preceded his speech, and his tongue already
had a loop in it The liquor stole through him, a mist of
bewildering and enchanting influence. The third cup broke his
sentences into unintelligible fragments; the fourth made his
underjaw sag loosely, the fifth and sixth, taken in close
succession, tumbled him limp on the floor, where he slept
blissfully all night long, snugly covered with some of Father
Beret's bed clothes.
"Per casum obliquum, et per indirectum," muttered the priest, when
he had returned the bottle and cup to their hiding-place." The end
justifies the means. Sleep well, my son. Ah, little Alice, little
Alice, your old Father will try--will try!"
He fumbled along the wall in the dark until he found the rapier,
which he took down; then he went out and sat for some time
motionless beside the door, while the clouds thickened overhead.
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