“Well said! Le Gardeur,” exclaimed the Intendant. “That's right, shake hands, and be friends again. Blessed are quarrels that lead to reconciliation and the washing out of feuds in wine. Take your seats, gentlemen.”
There was a general scramble back to the table. Bigot stood up in renewed force.
“Valets!” cried he, “bring in now the largest cups! We will drink a toast five fathoms deep, in water of life strong enough to melt Cleopatra's pearls, and to a jollier dame than Egypt's queen. But first we will make Le Gardeur de Repentigny free of the guild of noble partners of the company of adventurers trading in New France.”
The valets flew in and out. In a few moments the table was replenished with huge drinking-cups, silver flagons, and all the heavy impedimenta of the army of Bacchus.
“You are willing to become one of us, and enter the jolly guild of the Grand Company?” exclaimed the Intendant, taking Le Gardeur by the hand.
“Yes, I am a stranger, and you may take me in. I claim admission,” replied Le Gardeur with drunken gravity, “and by St. Pigot! I will be true to the guild!”
Bigot kissed him on both cheeks. “By the boot of St. Benoit! you speak like the King of Yvetot. Le Gardeur de Repentigny, you are fit to wear fur in the Court of Burgundy.”
“You can measure my foot, Bigot,” replied Le Gardeur, “and satisfy the company that I am able to wear the boot of St. Benoit.”
“By jolly St. Chinon! and you shall wear it, Le Gardeur,” exclaimed Bigot, handing him a quart flagon of wine, which Le Gardeur drank without drawing breath. “That boot fits,” shouted the Intendant exultingly; “now for the chant! I will lead. Stop the breath of any one who will not join in the chorus.”
The Intendant in great voice led off a macaronic verse of Molière, that had often made merry the orgies of Versailles: