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“The rascal!” grumbled Rouget. “You know, that cask is bigger than the one of yesterday. It’s yellow, this one–it ought to be great.” Then in accents of despair: “Let’s go and see the jambins; there may very possibly be lobsters in them.”

And the “Baleine” went on heavily to the left, steering toward the point.

In the “Zephir,” La Queue had to get in a passion in order to hold Tupain and Brisemotte from the cask. The boat-hook, in smashing a hoop, had made a leaking for the red liquid, which the two men tasted from the ends of their fingers and which they found exquisite. One might easily drink a glass without its producing much effect. But La Queue would not have it. He caulked the cask and declared that the first who sucked it should have a talk with him. On land, they would see.

“Then,” asked Tupain, sullenly, “are we going to draw out the jambins?”

“Yes, right away; there is no hurry!” replied La Queue.

He also gazed lovingly at the barrel. He felt his limbs melt with longing to go in at once and taste it. The fish bored him.

“Bah!” said he at the end of a silence. “Let’s go back, for it’s late. We will return to-morrow.” And he was relaxing his fishing when he noticed another cask at his right, this one very small, and which stood on end, turning on itself like a top. That was the last straw for the nets and the jambins. No one even spoke of them any longer. The “Zephir” gave chase to the little barrel, which was caught very easily.

During this time a similar adventure overtook the “Baleine.” After Rouget had already visited five jambins completely empty, Delphin, always on the watch, cried out that he saw something. But it did not have the appearance of a cask, it was too long.

“It’s a beam,” said Fouasse.

Rouget let fall his sixth jambin without drawing it out of the water. “Let’s go and see, all the same,” said he.

As they advanced, they thought they recognized at first a beam, a chest, the trunk of a tree. Then they gave a cry of joy.

It was a real cask, but a very queer cask, such as they had never seen before. One would have said a tube, bulging in the middle and closed at the two ends by a layer of plaster.

“Ah, that’s comical!” cried Rouget, in rapture. “This one I want the Emperor to taste. Come, children, let’s go in.”

They all agreed not to touch it, and the “Baleine” returned to Coqueville at the same moment as the “Zephir,” in its turn, anchored in the little harbor. Not one inquisitive had left the beach. Cries of joy greeted that unexpected catch of three casks. The gamins hurled their caps into the air, while the women had at once gone on the run to look for glasses. It was decided to taste the liquid on the spot. The wreckage belonged to the village. Not one protest arose. Only they formed into two groups, the Mahes surrounded Rouget, the Floches would not let go of La Queue.

“Emperor, the first glass for you!” cried Rouget. “Tell us what it is.”

The liquor was of a beautiful golden yellow. The garde champetre raised his glass, looked at it, smelt it, then decided to drink.

“That comes from Holland,” said he, after a long silence.

He did not give any other information. All the Mahes drank with deference. It was rather thick, and they stood surprised, for it tasted of flowers. The women found it very good. As for the men, they would have preferred less sugar. Nevertheless, at the bottom it ended by being strong at the third or fourth glass. The more they drank, the better they liked it. The men became jolly, the women grew funny.

But the Emperor, in spite of his recent quarrels with the Mayor, had gone to hang about the group of Floches.