year I shall certainly make a nectar that the gods
will not despise at their table!'
So, stooping, Christophe would look in his turn,
and when he must suddenly think of his father he would
thrust the thought firmly out of his mind, praising
the grapes to please Eusebe. Then slipping his hand
through the old man's arm: 'And now tell me again
all about your vineyards.'
Nothing loth Eusebe would start to explain the
reasons why his vines invariably prospered: first came
Bacchus, that lusty god of the grape, but then came
Eusebe a very good second. Winking and grinning
and waving his hand he would tell of his craft, his care
and his knowledge; of his truly amazing patience and
skill — none so skilful, said he, as the old Eusfebe.
Oh, yes, there were others who thought they grew
grapes — pou, their grapes were shrivelled and worth-
less. If you wished to obtain any juice from such
grapes you must first blow them out to bursting with
spittle! While as for their wine — Santo belli Mari-
niero! to drink it was to have an attack of the colic!
No, no, Eusebe alone could grow grapes; if he chose,
his vineyards could become world-famous, but he
did not choose, sarnipabieune, not he! What, degrade
his beautiful vineyards with placards fifteen feet high?
Why, the grapes would turn in their skins with sheer
horror at such a proceeding. Why, Bacchus would
literally belch with rage. Caspi, such doings must be
left to upstarts like Kahn and his ilk —Ah, the
venomous toads, degrading and fouling the face of
the country!
On and on he would gabble while Christophe
listened amused, feeling thankful for the distraction,
while he drew the fresh upland air into his lungs
and sniffed the strong, happy smell of the earth,
determined that he would be happy also. And some-
times he must laugh and remind Eusebe of that day
310