BOOK II
CHAPTER I
RATHER A GHASTLY PART
Mademoiselle Rosine raised her glass. Her big black eyes flashed unutterable things across the pink roses.
“I think,” she said, “that we drink the good health of our host, Meester Macheson, Meester Victor, is it not?”
“Bravo!” declared a pallid-looking youth, her neighbour at the round supper table. “By Jove, if we were at the Côte d’Or instead of the Warwick, we’d give him musical honours.”
“I drink,” Macheson declared, “to all of us who know how to live! Jules, another magnum, and look sharp.”
“Certainly, sir,” the man answered.