Dr. Vermont held the door for the ladies and bowed. He stooped and kissed little Gabrielle, and held her head a moment against him. And then when the door closed, he shrugged his shoulders, and sighed.
‘That’s the Englishwoman for you—a creature without tact or charm. The British matron is only fitted to be a mother of a family. She can neither hold us back, nor encourage us with dignity. Ah! lucky we are, gentlemen, to be the slaves and masters of that adorable bundle of perversities—la femme française!’
While he spoke he uncorked a bottle of Monsieur Lenormant’s fine old Burgundy, and filled each glass to the brim.
‘Allons, Messieurs. Let us drink the last hours away. I give you a toast to begin with—the delicious Frenchwoman.’
The young men half emptied their glasses at a draught, and then cast haggard glances at the sarcastic Doctor. He slowly drained his glass, and lifted the bottle again.
‘And since our delightful torment would never consent to go unmated, even in a toast, let us drink, gentlemen, to her inadequate, but sympathetic partner—the gallant Frenchman.’
The first bottle of Burgundy loosened their tongues again, and inspired them to a febrile gaiety. They laughed loudly, broke into snatches of song, and by the time the second bottle was empty, one and all had fallen upon sentimental reminiscences. They thought themselves back at Lander’s, and the discretion of the ladies’ retreat could not be questioned. Anatole thundered roughly upon the perfidy of a certain Susanne, and Gaston vowed that none of her crimes could equal the trick one Blanche played him—the men used to call her ‘Blanche of Castille,’ in recognition of the many virtues she seemed to have inherited from her illustrious namesakes, doubtless; and Julien interposed dryly, with a droll anecdote of a lady once known in Paris as ‘La Perle Noire’.
Dr. Vermont said nothing, but listened and attacked the third bottle. He reached across, and filled Anatole’s glass, and smiled upon him almost pleasantly.
‘Never mind Susanne, or any other perfidious fair, my lad. It comes to the same at the end, whether they have been faithful or not. They die, and we die, and sleep “a long, an endless, unawakeable sleep”. It’s half-past nine now,’ he added, looking at his watch. ‘In two more hours, we shall be starting out upon the road that has no ending, leads nowhither, unless it be to dark, bottomless space.’
‘Why so?’ asked Julien. ‘May we not be shooting through the stars? Anatole in his present mood will make straight for Venus, but I, seeking compensation for the dulness of a peaceful life, will rather choose Mars. One ought to fall in for some good fighting there, eh?’