He spoke in a semi-whisper which thrilled through the room. A momentary hush prevailed, and then Lotys called again, her voice softened to a caressing sweetness.
“Sergius!”
He started, and shook himself out of his reverie this time. Raising his hand, he passed it in a vague mechanical way across his brow as though suddenly wakened from a dream.
“Yes, yes! Let us drink to our three new comrades,” he said, and rose to his feet. “To your health, friends! And may you all stand firm in the hour of trial!”
All the company sprang up and drained their glasses, and when the toast was drunk and they were again seated, Pasquin Leroy asked if he might be allowed to return thanks.
“I do not know,” he said with a courteous air, “whether it is permissible for a newly-enrolled associate of this Brotherhood to make a speech on the first night of his membership,—but after the cordial welcome I and my comrades, strangers as we are, have received at your hands, I should like to say a few words—if, without breaking any rules of the Order, I may do so.”
“Hear, hear!” shouted Zouche, who had been steadily drinking for the last few moments,—“Speak on, man! Whoever heard of a dumb Socialist! Rant—rant! Rant and rave!—as I do, when the fit is on me! Do I not, Thord? Do I not move you even to tears?”
“And laughter!” put in Zegota. “Hold your tongue, Zouche! No other man can talk at all, if you once begin!”
Zouche laughed, and drained his glass.
“True!—my genius is of an absorbing quality! Silence, gentlemen! Silence for our new comrade! ‘Pasquin’ stands for the beginning of a jest—so we may hope he will be amusing,—‘Leroy’ stands for the king, and so we may expect him to be non-political!”