"Mademoiselle Elizabeth Rousset?" he said.
Boule de Suif started and turned round. "That is my name."
"Mademoiselle, the Prussian officer wants to speak to you at once."
"Yes, if you really are Mademoiselle Elizabeth Rousset."
She hesitated, thought for a moment, and then declared roundly: "That may be, but I'm not going."
There was a movement round about her--everybody was much exercised as to the reason of this summons. The Count came over to her.
"You may do wrong to refuse, madame, for it may entail considerable annoyance not only to yourself but on the rest of your companions. It is a fatal mistake ever to offer resistance to people who are stronger than ourselves. The step can have no possible danger for you--it is probably about some little formality that has been omitted."
One and all concurred with him, implored and urged and scolded, till they ended by convincing her; for they were all apprehensive of the results of her contumacy.
"Well, I do it for you sure enough!" she said at last. The Countess pressed her hand. "And we are most grateful to you."
She left the room, and the others agreed to wait for her before beginning the meal. Each one lamented at not having been asked for instead of this hot-headed, violent young woman, and mentally prepared any number of platitudes for the event of being called in their turn.
At the end of ten minutes she returned, crimson with rage, choking, snorting,--"Oh, the blackguard; the low blackguard!" she stammered.
They all crowded round her to know what had happened, but she would not say, and the Count becoming insistent, she answered with much dignity, "No, it does not concern anybody! I can't speak of it."
They then seated themselves round a great soup tureen from which steamed a smell of cabbage. In spite of this little contretemps the supper was a gay one. The cider, of which the Loiseaus and the two nuns partook from motives of economy, was good. The rest ordered wine and Cornudet called for beer. He had a particular way with him of uncorking the bottle, of making the liquid froth, of gazing at it while he tilted the glass, which he then held up between his eye and the light to criticise the color; while he drank, his great beard, which had the tints of his favorite beverage, seemed to quiver fondly, his eyes squinting that he might not lose sight of his tankard for a moment, and altogether he had the appearance of fulfilling the sole function for which he had been born. You would have said that he established in his own mind some connection or affinity between the two great passions that monopolized his life--Ale and Revolution--and most assuredly he never dipped into the one without thinking of the other.