"Le vin gris" (Grey wine) is a special thing. It's a very light red wine. It looks like red wine and water. A lot of water and little of red wine. But if one drinks it carelessly, one will soon realise that the water content can only be low. One may only come to this conclusion when one wants to get up. Then one makes the strange discovery that something is wrong with one's legs. One has heavy rubber boots on up to one's knees, or one actually wades in water, or one has lead under one's feet, or one's knees are made of cotton wool. But it's all "le petit vin gris." (little grey wine) It calls itself little wine. But Uncle Ehrenhardt noticed it right away, "It has something in it." Aunt Luise also had red cheeks and laughed like a turtledove at everything Dad said.
No, but it was also too delightful, this thing with the French lying in the ditch, and Meinhardis just rode over them and yelled at them in French to clear off, and they fell for it, thinking he was a "Guide de Napoléon" (Napoleon's Guide); because the hussar uniform was so similar. Too stupid lads.
"Well, they shot after us a little bit, my couple of people and me. But they didn't hit anything—we rode like devils," Meinhardis ended the story.
It was a reason to toast each other. The small water glasses with the brightly shimmering wine were raised, the glasses clinked together without making much sound and were raised to the mouth again. Uncle Ehrenhardt awkwardly wiped his white seal moustache, then put his arms comfortably on the table again. His forehead was almost white, while the lower half of his face was weather-brown, very finely streaked with tiny blue veins. Now his well-shaped nose was a little reddish and his eyes moist.
"Tell us something else, dear brother-in-law. I've also experienced a lot of things, but I can't get it out that way. No, talking has never been my thing; I've left that to others all my life. Mainly to my dear Luise." With a flirtatious look over to aunt, who was a little embarrassed but couldn't hold anything against him today. Because today was a day for pleasure. One travelled, one stayed with relatives, one had made a trip and seen sights-all that counted as pleasure for Aunt Luise. Yes, one was overstepping the line and drinking red wine in broad daylight.
"Well, go ahead!" she said cheerfully.
Meinhardis didn't need to be asked too much. "Well, if you want, I'll tell you something about after the war. I had stayed with the occupation army in France at that time." To the children, "The French had to pay something after peace was concluded, and until that was done, a pair of troops remained in the country. Well, that was also quite nice."
Reminiscing, he puffed thick clouds of smoke in front of him so that he could not be seen for a moment, then he carefully brushed the ashes into a bowl and continued, "Actually, we got double pay back then, and we organised all kinds of amusements, horse races, hunting, and things like that. We had nothing to do. So one day a girl came to me, Laurence was her name. Laurence!" he repeated dreamily, smiling to himself. "So, Laurence. She had blonde hair and light grey eyes. She cried terribly, oh, terribly! At first, I couldn't get a word out of her, but then it happened. Her groom had been captured and was in Berlin. She was touching in her black dress with a gold chain and a locket with his photograph inside. The lad looked horrible, I tell you. Well, I comforted her as best I could, poor girl. I immediately sat down and wrote to the colonel-commander, whose brother was in overall command of the prison system. I knew him from riding school, we had pulled great pranks together. Well, basically I didn't believe that it would work. But Laurence had to come every day and ask me if I knew anything new and so on. Well, she didn't cry any more. But one day the groom actually arrived. Yes, and believe it or not, she didn't want him anymore."
Meinhardis tried in vain to hide his satisfied smile. Berti and Lela had listened intently. They hadn't even known this story. Aunt Luise guiltily glanced at the children, who were sitting with heated cheeks and shining eyes. Berti pretended not to understand anything, and Lela jumped up, strangely excited, embraced her father and kissed him voluntarily, completely against her habit, right in the middle of his mustache mouth.
Delighted, father reached for her hands. "Well, did you like it so much? The story of the beautiful Laurence?" he asked proudly.
Lela just nodded and beamed at him.
"Actually, this is not a story for little girls," said Aunt Luise, half-punishingly.
But uncle said: "Oh why, she's already a little woman, our Manuela, isn't she?"
He had also pulled her to him and pressed her against him for a moment.