Several other habitues joined the party, attracted
thereto by so princely an order, and as they thought
Madame Roustan a newcomer, they must all drink
her health a great many times:
'Madame, a vot5 santeP
'Messieurs, a la votre!' for courtesy surely demanded
such an answer. So after awhile breaths reeked like
a winepress whose dregs have lain long and thus
over-fermented.
Now whether it was some kind of reaction brought
about by this highly appreciative welcome, or whether
it was the little violinist who most deftly and silently
replenished the glasses, or whether it was the great
heat of the room which had made her feel quite
uncommonly thirsty, or whether it was that the
strong and sweet wine very soon seemed as harmless
as the weak and sweet groseille, Madame Roustan
never knew; but the fact remains that she found
herself drinking toast for toast in accordance with the
finest traditions of the Cafe. And moreover by the
time that she realized in a vague, placid, happy way
what she was doing, it seemed to her not only natural
but right, and not only natural and right but pleasant.
cMadame la Comtesse de Berac . . .' she hiccoughed,
'My dear son a priest . . . and . . . Comtesse de
Berac.
No one smiled, but the sailor began to chant slowly:
€As tu vu les fesses de ma belle Louise?
As tu vu ses pis qui sont a croquer?5
And many other charms which Louise possessed
were minutely described by the now doleful singer,
who feeling in great need of sympathy was making
sad sheep's-eyes at Madame Roustan.
The little violinist had started to play, so a few who
felt sure enough of their legs left their seats and went
off in search of partners. And some of the couples
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