Blaise filled the glasses amid general silence.
St. Hilaire rose to his feet, holding his wine-glass above his head.
"What, my friends, you are not afraid?" he exclaimed in a tone of surprise, looking about the table where only the chevalier and the philosopher had followed his example. "Is it possible you have taken the chevalier's visions so much to heart?"
They all rose from their places, ashamed to have it thought that they had taken in too serious a vein the little comedy played by the chevalier.
"Any excuse to drink such wine as this," said de Lacheville, with a forced laugh.
"We drink to the revolution!" cried St. Hilaire in his reckless manner—and he touched glasses with Madame de Rémur and then with the Countess d'Arlincourt. As the glasses clinked about the table, a heavy booming sound fell upon the ears of the revelers.
"What noise is that?" cried the countess nervously. They stopped to listen, holding their glasses aloft. The booming ceased, then followed a roar like that of the angry surf beating upon a rockbound shore.
"It is the chevalier's revolution," exclaimed Madame de Rémur.
"Are we to be frightened from drinking our toast by a little noise?" cried St. Hilaire. "What if it be the revolution? Let us drink to it. Come!" and they drained their glasses to the accompaniment of what sounded like a volley of musketry.
The ladies looked pale and were glad to quit the table for the salon, where they were joined by the poet and the philosopher, leaving the others still at their wine.