"Tell him to go to the devil," I said, and Trotto laughed, and after a word or so exchanged with Piero he closed the door and came back to his seat. "I have sent Piero off," he said, and pouring out a bumper for each of us he raised his cup, saying: "Pledge me this toast, monsieur. Long life to the bride and bridegroom!"
"Long life to the happy pair!" I clinked my cup with his, and drank, my mind working like a clock to find out what was meant, my eyes never moving from Trotto's face.
"Now," I said, "it is my turn. The wine, messire captain. And here is my toast: Confusion to the enemies of Bertrand Broussel!"
There was, perhaps, some want of heartiness in the captain's voice as he echoed the words but none in his manner of drinking, though he too began to look, as if seeking for a hidden meaning in my words, and his hand left his cup and dropped quietly to his side; but still I kept my eyes on his, as I said:
"That wine of yours is a rare cordial, captain; it makes me ravenous. Do you remember how we starved before Volterra?" And I filled my cup again.
"Yes—well."
"We were not birds of paradise exactly, and yet we had to live on air sometimes—and a thin enough diet it was. You will never guess what I had for supper once—try!"
"I am bad at guessing, monsieur."
"A mask."
"A mask!"