He was now engaged in buying cordials in the
market-place--in buying and drinking them; for he had pulled the cork out
of a bottle filled with a rich yellow liquid, and had drained half the
bottle at a gulp. Presently he offered the remainder to a passing
carter, who made a gesture of contempt and passed on, for, to him, white
whisky was the only drink worth while. Besides, he disliked Sebastian
Dolores. Then, with a flourish, the Spaniard tendered the bottle to
Madame Langlois and Palass Poucette's widow, at whose corner of
merchandise he had now arrived.
Surely there never was a more benign villain and perjurer in the world
than Sebastian Dolores! His evidence, given a half-hour before, with
every sign of truthfulness, was false. The man--Rocque Valescure--for
whom he gave it was no friend of his; but he owned a tavern called "The
Red Eagle," a few miles from the works where the Spaniard was employed;
also Rocque Valescure's wife set a good table, and Sebastian Dolores was
a very liberal feeder; when he was not hungry he was always thirsty.
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