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!"
"Well, Chevalier, the Grand Company, after toasting all the beauties
of Quebec, desire to drink the health of the fair mistress of
Beaumanoir, and in her presence too!" said Cadet with owlish
gravity.
Bigot started; drunk and reckless as he was, he did not like his
secret to be divulged. He was angry with Cadet for referring to it
in the presence of so many who knew not that a strange lady was
residing at Beaumanoir.
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