But it flourishes still with pristine vigor in New
France, that olive branch grafted on the stately tree of the British
Empire. The broad chest and flexile lips of Father de Berey rang
out the grand old song in tones that filled the stately old hall:
"'Grand Dieu! Sauvez le Roi!
Grand Dieu! Sauvez le Roi!
Sauvez le Roi!
Que toujours glorieux.
Louis Victorieux,
Voye ses ennemis
Toujours soumis!'"
The company all joined in the chorus, the gentlemen raising their
cups, the ladies waving their handkerchiefs, and male and female
blending in a storm of applause that made the old walls ring with
joy. Songs and speeches followed in quick succession, cutting as
with a golden blade the hours of the dessert into quinzaines of
varied pleasures.
The custom of the times had reduced speechmaking after dinner to a
minimum. The ladies, as Father de Berey wittily remarked, preferred
private confession to public preaching; and long speeches, without
inlets for reply, were the eighth mortal sin which no lady would
forgive.
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