As I said it, for one fleeting moment I had a vision of a round white arm bare to the shoulder, a slender hand grasping a tawny mane, and black eyes flashing with scorn. Perhaps it was due to that vision that my voice had a ring in it that brought every man to his feet, and as glasses clinked, each man drank to the lady of his love with a rousing cheer.
As we brought our glasses to the table, rims down, the young man who had proposed Yorke's health said, with a bow of apology to me:
"I accept my rebuke, and if the gentleman permit I would like to repeat his toast: To the fairest lady in St. Louis—Dr. Saugrain's ward!"
"Fill up your glasses, gentlemen, drain them to the lees, and throw them over your shoulders; 'tis a worthy toast," cried the governor; and, filling his to the brim, and draining it at one draught, he flung it over his shoulder—an example which the others, benedict and bachelor, followed with ardor. In the midst of the crashing of glass, I thought I caught Dr. Saugrain's and Mr. Gratiot's eyes fixed curiously on me. I turned to Mr. Pierre Chouteau:
"Dr. Saugrain's ward must be fair indeed, to rouse such enthusiasm," I said.
"Vraiment," returned Pierre, "she is the Rose of St. Louis. But you dine with Dr. Saugrain to-day: you will see, and then you will know. Young Josef Papin yonder, who proposed the toast, is wild about her. And so are half the young men of the village."
"Vraiment," I murmured to myself, "if she is fairer than the scornful Mademoiselle Pelagie, she is fair indeed!"
And yet I found myself looking forward to Dr. Saugrain's dinner with suppressed excitement, while I puzzled my brains to interpret his and Mr. Gratiot's enigmatical glances in my direction.