She lifted them up, brilliant, toward the lamp.
"Let us go."
She ran out laughing, ascended the stairs, placed the bottles on the table. For a few seconds she sat as if bewildered, panting somewhat. Then she shook her head.
"Look at Ortona!"
She stretched out her hand toward the distant town, beautiful in its gala dress, and which seemed to be wafting its joy as far as where she sat. A crimson glare was spread over the top of the hill as over an active crater; and from the lighted area kept rising innumerable balloons in the deep azure, drifting in vast circles, presenting a picture of an immense illuminated dome reflected by the sea.
On the table, rich in flowers, fruits, and sweetmeats, the night-moths were whirling. The froth from the generous wine splashed over the rush mats.
"I drink to our happiness!" she said, lifting her glass toward her lover.
"I drink to our peace!" he said, holding out his own.
The glasses clashed together so roughly that both were broken. The golden wine was spilled on the table, inundated a pile of fine, succulent peaches.
"A good omen! A good omen!" cried Hippolyte, more merry at this sprinkling than if she had drunk deeply.