“Il est malade, il à un rheum,” (He’s sick, he’s got a cold) I told Noblet grandly. The Soldier was laughing all the while.
WHAT GETS ME IS THAT, AFTER AN HOUR NOBLET and I were waving our wine bottles across the poor priest’s face as we argued religion, history, politics, so suddenly I turned to him trembling there and asked: “Do you mind our wine bottles?”
He gave me a look as if to say: “You mean that lil ole winemaker me? No, no, I have a cold, you see, I feel awful sick.”
“Il est malade, il à un rheum,” (He’s sick, he’s got a cold) I told Noblet grandly. The Soldier was laughing all the while.
