He leaned, listening, towards the door. Obscure sounds came from the passage.
“Ah, here they are!” said the orderly.
Réchoussat craned his neck. “Bah! No, I tell you.”
Suddenly a wonderful light, rich in reflections of gold and crimson—a strange fairy light—filled the passage. The wall in front stood out; ordinarily as pale as December woods, now it suddenly exhibited the splendour of an eastern palace or of a princess’ gown. In all this light there was sound of happy voices and of laughter. No one could be heard singing, yet the light itself seemed to be singing a magnificent song. Réchoussat, who could not move, stretched his neck the more vigorously, and raised his hands a little above the sheets, as if he wanted to feel this beautiful sound and light.
“You see, you see,” said Têtard. “I told you they would come.”
Then there was a big blaze. Something stopped before the door: it was a tree—a real fir-tree from the forests, planted in a green box. There were so many Chinese lanterns and pink candles hanging from its branches that it looked like an enormous torch. But there was something grander to come: the wise and learned kings now entered. There was Sorri, a Senegalese gunner, Moussa and Cazin. Wrapped in cloaks from Adrianople, they wore long white beards made of cotton wool.
They walked right into Réchoussat’s room. Sorri carried a little packet tied with ribbon. Moussa waved aloft two cigars, and Cazin a bottle of champagne. The three of them bowed punctiliously, as they had been told, and Réchoussat found himself suddenly with a box of chocolates in his right hand, two cigars in his left, and a glass of foaming wine on his little table.
“Ah, boys! No, no; you’re joking, boys.”
Moussa and Cazin laughed. Sorri showed his teeth.
“Ah! boys,” repeated Réchoussat, “I don’t smoke, but I’m going to keep the cigars as a souvenir. Pass me the wine.”