Moreover, on a low chair near the door, in the little light which penetrated from without, a thin, sallow girl, the daughter of the house, sat idle, trembling with fever, her hands close pressed between her knees.
Realising that Pierre felt uncomfortable there, the Count proposed that they should drink their wine outside.

"We shall be better out of doors," said he, "it's so very in mild this evening." Accordingly, whilst the mother looked for the eggs, and the father mended a wheel in an adjacent shed, the daughter was obliged to get up shivering to carry the flagon of wine and the three glasses to the arbour, where she placed them on one of the tables.

And, having pocketed the price of the wine--threepence--in silence, she went back to her seat with a sullen look, as if annoyed at having been compelled to make such a long journey.
Meanwhile the three men had sat down, and Prada gaily filled each of the glasses, although Pierre declared that he was quite unable to drink wine between his meals.

"Pooh, pooh," said the Count, "you can always clink glasses with us.

And now, Abbe, isn't this little wine droll?
Come, here's to the Pope's better health, since he's unwell!" Santobono at one gulp emptied his glass and clacked his tongue.