“And I dare; and I will, too, if you wish it, Chevalier!” shouted Le Gardeur, mad with wine, and quite oblivious of the thousand claims of the father of his friend, Pierre Philibert, upon him.
“I take you at your word, Le Gardeur! and bind your honor to it in the presence of all these gentlemen,” said Bigot with a look of intense satisfaction.
“When shall it be done—to-day?” Le Gardeur seemed ready to pluck the moon from the sky in his present state of ecstasy.
“Why, no, not to-day; not before the pear is ripe will we pluck it! Your word of honor will keep till then?”
Bigot was in great glee over the success of his stratagem to entrap De Repentigny.
“It will keep a thousand years!” replied Le Gardeur, amid a fresh outburst of merriment round the board which culminated in a shameless song, fit only for a revel of satyrs.
The Sieur Cadet lolled lazily in his chair, his eyes blinking with a sleepy leer. “We are getting stupidly drunk. Bigot,” said he; “we want something new to rouse us all to fresh life. Will you let me offer a toast?”
“Go on, Cadet! offer what toast you please. There is nothing in heaven, hell, or upon earth that I won't drink to for your sake.”
“I want you to drink it on your knees, Bigot! pledge me that, and fill your biggest cup.”
“We will drink it on all fours if you like! come, out with your toast, Cadet; you are as long over it as Father Glapion's sermon in Lent! and it will be as interesting, I dare say!”