knew the wraths of gin,
the tendernesses of curacao, the laughter of cognac. And Coqueville
remained as innocent as a new-born child, knowing nothing about
anything, drinking with conviction that which the good Lord sent them.

It was on Friday that the Mahes and the Floches fraternized. They were
very jolly that evening. Already, the evening before, distances had
drawn nearer, the most intoxicated had trodden down the bar of sand
which separated the two groups. There remained but one step to take. On
the side of the Floches the four casks were emptying, while the Mahes
were equally finishing their three little barrels; just three liqueurs
which made the French flag; one blue, one white, and one red. The blue
filled the Floches with jealousy, because a blue liqueur seemed to them
something really supernatural. La Queue, grown good-natured since he had
been drunk, advanced, a glass in his hand, feeling that he ought to take
the first step as magistrate.

"See here, Rouget," he stuttered, "will you drink with me?"

"Willingly," replied Rouget, who was staggering under a feeling of
tenderness.

And they fell upon each other's necks. Then they all wept, so great was
their emotion. The Mahes and the Floches embraced, they who had been
devouring one another for three centuries. The Abbe Radiguet, greatly
touched, again spoke of the finger of God. They drank to each other in
the three liqueurs, the blue, the white, and the red.

"_Vive la France!_" cried the Emperor.

The blue was worthless, the white of not much account, but the red was
really a success. Then they tapped the casks of the Floches. Then they
danced. As there was no band, some good-natured boys clapped their
hands, whistling, which excited the girls. The fete became superb. The
seven casks were placed in a row; each could choose that which he liked
best. Those who had had enough stretched themselves out on the sands,
where they slept for a while; and when they awoke they began again.
Little by little the others spread the fun until they took up the whole
beach. Right up to midnight they skipped in the open air. The sea had a
soft sound, the stars shone in a deep sky, a sky of vast peace. It
was the serenity of the infant ages enveloping the joy of a tribe of
savages, intoxicated by their first cask of eau-de-vie.

Nevertheless, Coqueville went home to bed again. When there was nothing
more left to drink, the Floches and the Mahes helped one another,
carr