"Right," said all the young men.
"Then let it be with one of the officers of the garrison."
"Be it so," said Alfonse; "we will make a pool, as usual, at the café, all thirteen of us; and——"
"The first out," said the student.
"No," interrupted Alfonse, "that would be a bad omen; it shall be the winner."
"Agreed!" replied all, and they sate down to table with as much gaiety and insouciance as if nothing had been said.
The stranger, just as the soup was being put on the table, got up, and with a magisterial tone of voice addressed the assembly. "Gentlemen," said he, "I feel suddenly inspired with a sublime idea. We are about to eat and drink in the ruins of Roman greatness (alluding to the amphitheatre). Let us imitate that people in every thing that is great. Nothing could be more splendid than the games of the gladiators which were celebrated over the tombs of the mighty dead,—nothing more sumptuous than the festivals held at their funerals. This is probably also a funereal fête; with this difference, that it is held before, and not after death. Let Poitiers therefore rival Rome in her magnificence; let this cena be in honour of the mighty remains over which we are sitting; let it be morituro,—sacred to him who is about to perish."
"Bravo!" exclaimed the guests one and all; "a splendid idea, by Jove!—a splendid cena be it!"
"Open the windows!" cried Alfonse. The windows were opened. As soon as the soup was served, smash went all the plates into the yard, and shivered against the pavement. So, during the rest of dinner, every plate as fast as it was cleared, every bottle as soon as emptied, followed their fellows. One might perceive, by the practised dexterity of this feat, that it was not the first time they had played the same game.