“Another bottle of the same,” said Bunker aside to the waiter.
. . . . . .
It was an hour later; the scene and the personages the same, but the atmosphere marvellously altered.
“To ze ladies, Bonker!”
“To HER, Baron!”
“To zem both!”
The genial heart, the magnanimous soul of Rudolph von Blitzenberg had asserted their dominion again. Depression, jealousy, repentance, qualms, and all other shackles of the spirit whatsoever, had fled discomfited. Now at last he saw his late exploits in their true heroic proportions, and realized his marvellous good fortune in satisfying his aspirations so gloriously. Raising his glass once more, he cried—
“Dear Bonker, my heart he does go out to you! Ach, you have given me soch a treat. Vunce more I schmell ze mountain dew—I hear ze pipes—I gaze into loffly eyes—I am ze noblest part of mineself! Bonker, I vill defy ze mozzer of my wife! I drink to you, my friend, mit hip—hip—hip—hooray!”
“You have more than repaid me,” replied the Count, “by the spectacle you have provided. Dear Baron, it was a panorama calculated to convert a continent!”
“To vat should it convert him?” inquired the Baron with interest.