"Fill up again, Le Gardeur!" exclaimed the Intendant, with a loud
and still clear voice; "the lying clock says it is day--broad day,
but neither cock crows nor day dawns in the Chateau of Beaumanoir,
save at the will of its master and his merry guests! Fill up,
companions all! The lamplight in the wine-cup is brighter than the
clearest sun that ever shone!"
"Bravo Bigot! name your toast, and we will pledge it till the seven
stars count fourteen!" replied Le Gardeur, looking hazily at the
great clock in the hall. "I see four clocks in the room, and every
one of them lies if it says it is day!"
"You are mending, Le Gardeur de Repentigny! You are worthy to
belong to the Grand Company! But you shall have my toast. We have
drank it twenty times already, but it will stand drinking twenty
times more. It is the best prologue to wine ever devised by wit of
man--a woman--"
"And the best epilogue too, Bigot!" interjected Varin, visibly
drunk; "but let us have the toast, my cup is waiting."
"Well, fill up all, then; and we will drink the health, wealth, and
love by stealth, of the jolliest dame in sunny France--The Marquise
de Pompadour!"
"La Pompadour! La Pompadour!" Every tongue repeated the name, the
goblets were drained to the bottoms, and a thunder of applause and
clattering of glasses followed the toast of the mistress of Louis
XV.
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