This was composed of a dozen young men whom Sainte-Croix directly recognised to be scholars of the different colleges. They were dressed in every style of fashion according to their tastes—one would not have seen appearances more varied in the Paris students of the present day. Some still kept to the fashions of the preceding reigns—the closely-clipped hair, pointed beard and ring of moustache surrounding the mouth. Others had a semi-clerical habit, and others again assimilated to the dress of the epoch; albeit the majority wore their own hair. But in one thing they appeared all to agree. Large wine-cups were placed before each, and flagons passed quickly from one to the other round the table.
They stared at Sainte-Croix as he entered with his attendant, and were silent. One of them, however, recognised him, and telling the others that he was a friend, made a place for him at his side, whilst Lachaussée took his seat at the chimney corner on a rude settle.
‘Your name, my worthy seigneur?’ exclaimed one of the party at the head of the table; ‘we have no strangers here. Philippe Glazer, tell your friend to answer.’
‘My name is Gaudin de Sainte-Croix. I am a captain in his Majesty’s Normandy regiment. Yours is——?’
The collected manner in which the new-comer answered the question evidently made an impression on the chairman. He was a good-looking young man, with long dark hair and black eyes, clad in a torn mantle evidently put on for the nonce, with an old cap adorned with shells upon his head, and holding a knotty staff, fashioned like a crutch, for a sceptre. He made a slight obeisance, and replied—
‘Well—you are frank with me; I will be the same. I have two names, and answer to both equally. In this society of Gens de la Courte Épée,[1] I am called “Le Grand Coësre;” at the Hôtel Dieu they know me better as Camille Theria, of Liége, in the United Netherlands.’
At a sign from the speaker, one of the party took a bowl from before him and pushed it along the table towards Sainte-Croix. There were a few pieces of small money in it, and Gaudin directly perceiving their drift threw in some more. A sound of acclamation passed round the table, and he immediately perceived that he had risen to the highest pitch in their estimation.
‘He is one of us!’ cried Theria. ‘Allons! Glazer—the song—the song.’
The student addressed directly commenced; the others singing the chorus, and beating time with their cups.
Glazer’s Song.
I.
Ruby bubbling from the flask,
Send the grape’s bright blood around;
Throw off steady life’s cold mask,
Every earthly care confound.
Here no rules are known,
Buvons!
Here no schools we own,
Trinquons!
Let wild glee and revelry
Sober thought dethrone.
Plan! Plan! Plan! Rataplan!
II.
Would you Beauty’s kindness prove?
Drink! faint heart ne’er gain’d a prize.
Hath a mistress duped your love?
Drink! and fairer forms will rise.
Clasp’d may be the zone,
Buvons!
Even to the throne.
Trinquons!
But full well the students know
Beauty is their own.
Plan! Plan! Plan! Rataplan!
III.
Soaring thoughts our minds entrance,
Now we seem to spurn the ground.
See,—the lights begin to dance,
Whirling madly round and round.
Still the goblet drain,
Buvons!
Till each blazing vein
Trinquons!
Sends fresh blood in sparkling flood
To the reeling brain.
Plan! Plan! Plan! Rataplan!