liquid. "Ha! what have we here? Vodka, I hope." He stooped down and tasted it, but got up with an air of disgust. "No such luck. Only frog's ratefia" (so the French called the kvass of the Russians). "How could any poor wretches be expected to fight with such stuff as that in their insides?"
"Let me have a pull at it," said Henri. "I am thirsty enough not to despise even frog's ratefia. Do you think Seppel means to stay here all night?"
"He ought not; but if he finds vodka I would not answer for the consequences. And certainly it is growing very late."
Féron at last succeeded in finding the tools with which the villagers performed whatever rude blacksmith's work they needed. Then he rejoined his companions, who were just beginning to help themselves to the supper which had been prepared for very different guests by the priest's wife. The cottage was that of Pope Nikita, and the day happened to be the name-day of Anna Popovna.
A good store of vodka had been found, and with this help the soldiers soon forgot their troubles, past, present, and to come. They ate, drank, and made merry; and the sergeant, far from being any check upon their mirth, drank more deeply and talked more boisterously than any of them. The night closed over them unawares, and of course there was now no question of leaving their comfortable quarters until the morning.
Féron had brought in his hand a small piece of iron, as well as the hammer and tongs he had been using. He had a jesting dispute with one of his comrades, who called in question his capabilities as a blacksmith. "Blacksmith, indeed!" said Féron. "That's nothing. I am quite an artist, messieurs. At Brie I was accounted a connoisseur—an ornamental worker in brass, iron, and the other precious metals."
"A fine story," laughed Henri, who was greatly the better for his comfortable meal. "At Brie your crooked nails were a joke for the whole village."
