“One moment, commandant,” said the doctor.  In answer to his summons, Jacquotte appeared at once, and her master ordered tea.  “You see, commandant, at night when every one is sleeping, I do not sleep. . . .  The thought of my troubles lies heavily on me, and then I try to forget them by taking tea.  It produces a sort of nervous inebriation —­a kind of slumber, without which I could not live.  Do you still decline to take it?”

“For my own part,” said Genestas, “I prefer your Hermitage.”

“By all means.  Jacquotte,” said Benassis, turning to his housekeeper, “bring in some wine and biscuits.  We will both of us have our night-cap after our separate fashions.”

“That tea must be very bad for you!” Genestas remarked.

“It brings on horrid attacks of gout, but I cannot break myself of the habit, it is too soothing; it procures for me a brief respite every night, a few moments during which life becomes less of a burden. . . .  Come.  I am listening; perhaps your story will efface the painful impressions left by the memories that I have just recalled.”

Genestas set down his empty glass upon the chimney-piece.  “After the Retreat from Moscow,” he said, “my regiment was stationed to recruit for a while in a little town in Poland.  We were quartered there, in fact, till the Emperor returned, and we bought up horses at long prices.  So far so good.  I ought to say that I had a friend in those days.  More than once during the Retreat I had owed my life to him.  He was a quartermaster, Renard by name; we could not but be like brothers (military discipline apart) after what he had done for me.  They billeted us on the same house, a sort of shanty, a rat-hole of a place where a whole family lived, though you would not have thought there was room to stable a horse.  This particular hovel belonged to some Jews who carried on their six-and-thirty trades in it.  The frost had not so stiffened the old father Jew’s fingers but that he could count gold fast enough; he had thriven uncommonly during our reverses.  That sort of gentry lives in squalor and dies in gold.

“There were cellars underneath (lined with wood of course, the whole house was built of wood); they had stowed their children away down there, and one more particularly, a girl of seventeen, as handsome as a Jewess can be when she keeps herself tidy and has not fair hair.  She was as white as snow, she had eyes like velvet, and dark lashes to them like rats’ tails; her hair was so thick and glossy that it made you long to stroke it.  She was perfection, and nothing less!  I was the first to discover this curious arrangement.  I was walking up and down outside one evening, smoking my pipe, after they thought I had gone to bed.  The children came in helter-skelter, tumbling over one another like so many puppies.  It was fun to watch them.  Then they had supper with their father and mother.  I strained my eyes to see the young Jewess through the clouds of smoke that her father blew from his pipe; she looked like a new gold piece among a lot of copper coins.