He walked a
little unsteady too, and his naturally coarse voice sounded thick,
but his hard brain never gave way beyond a certain point under any
quantity of liquor.
"I am going to get some fresh air," said he. "I shall walk as far
as the Fleur-de-Lis. They never go to bed at that jolly old inn."
"I will go with you!" "And I!" exclaimed a dozen voices.
"Come on then; we will all go to the old dog-hole, where they keep
the best brandy in Quebec. It is smuggled of course, but that makes
it all the better."
Mine host of the Taverne de Menut combatted this opinion of the
goodness of the liquors at the Fleur-de-Lis. His brandy had paid
the King's duties, and bore the stamp of the Grand Company, he said;
and he appealed to every gentleman present on the goodness of his
liquors.
Cadet and the rest took another round of it to please the landlord,
and sallied out with no little noise and confusion. Some of them
struck up the famous song which, beyond all others, best expressed
the gay, rollicking spirit of the French nation and of the times of
the old regime:
"'Vive Henri Quatre!
Vive le Roi vaillant!
Ce diable a quatre
A le triple talent,
De boire et de battre,
Et d'etre un vert galant!'"
When the noisy party arrived at the Fleur-de-Lis, they entered
without ceremony into a spacious room--low, with heavy beams
and with roughly plastered walls, which were stuck over with
proclamations of governors and intendants and dingy ballads brought
by sailors from French ports.
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