“On that memorable day,” he said, “I myself illuminate my windows, if not with the magnificence that characterizes the edifices of the Chiado, at least with sincere good-will.” And he ended by saying, “Let us not omit, my dear friends, to drink to the health of the enlightened monarch, to whom, in my mature years, I owe the privilege of displaying, before I descend to the tomb, the honorable decoration of Santiago. My friends, to the health of the Royal Family!”—here he raised his glass—“the model family, that, seated in the most exalted position of the State, directs, surrounded by the lights of the political firmament, directs—”
He paused in vain for the word he wanted; there was an anxious silence.
“Directs—”
Through his eye-glasses his eyes could be seen fixed on the jamb of the door, seeking inspiration.
“Directs—”
He scratched his bald crown in consternation; but at last a smile irradiated his countenance. He had found the word he sought, and extending his arm,—
“Directs the ship of State in such a manner as to excite the envy of surrounding nations! To the health of the Royal Family!”
“To the health of the Royal Family!” responded the others with respect.
Coffee was served in the parlor; a pair of candles illuminated the cold apartment with a dismal light. The counsellor wound up the music-box, and, to the sound of the nuptial chorus of “Lucia,” handed cigars around.
“The Senhora Adelaide may bring the liquors,” he said to Philomena.