"A sister?"
"No."
"A mother, perhaps?"
"Yes," said the general, issuing from the ambush in which he seemed to have been awaiting the marquis, "France, our common mother."
"Ah, bravo! then I drink to France! and may the glory and the grandeur that her kings have given her for the last eight centuries long continue."
"And, permit me to add, the half-century of liberty which she owes to her sons."
"That is not only an addition, but a modification," said the marquis. Then, after an instant's silence, he added, "Faith! I'll accept that toast! White or tricolor, France is always France!"
All the guests touched glasses, and Loriot himself, carried off his balance by the enthusiasm of the marquis, emptied his glass.
Once launched in this direction, and moistened abundantly, the conversation became so lively and even vagabond that after the supper was two thirds through, Mary and Bertha, thinking they had better not wait till the end of it, rose from table and passed without remark into the salon.
Maître Loriot, who seemed to have come there as much for the daughters as for their father, rose a few moments later and followed them.