must have changed a good deal while
I was not in it. But patience!"

And now truth obliges me to confess that Fougas got drunk at dessert. He
had drunk and eaten like a Homeric hero, and talked more fluently than
Cicero in his best days. The fumes of wine, spices, and eloquence
mounted into his brain. He became familiar, spoke affectionately to some
and rudely to others, and poured out a torrent of absurdities big enough
to turn forty mills. His drunkenness, however, had in it nothing brutal,
or even ignoble; it was but the overflowing of a spirit young,
affectionate, vain-glorious, and unbalanced. He proposed five or six
toasts--to Glory, to the Extension of our Frontiers, to the Destruction
of the last of the English, to Mlle. Mars--the hope of the French
stage, to Affection--the tie, fragile but dear, which unites the lover
to his sweetheart, the father to his son, the colonel to his regiment!

His style, a singular mixture of familiarity and impressiveness,
provoked more than one smile among the auditory. He noticed it, and a
spark of defiance flashed up at the bottom of his heart. From time to
time he loudly asked if "those people there" were not abusing his
ingenuousness.

"Confusion!" cried he, "Confusion to those who want me to take bladders
for lanterns! The lantern may blaze out like a bomb, and carry
consternation in its path!"

After a series of such remarks, there was nothing left for him to do but
to roll under the table, and this _denouement_ was generally expected.
But the Colonel belonged to a robust generation, accustomed to more than
one kind of excess, and strong to resist pleasure as well as dangers,
privations, and fatigues. So when Madame Renault pushed back her chair,
in indication that the repast was finished, Fougas arose without
difficulty, gracefully offered his arm, and conducted his partner to the
parlor. His gait was a little stiff and oppressively regular, but he
went straight ahead, and did not oscillate the least bit. He took a
couple of cups of coffee, and spirits in moderation, after which he
began to talk in the most reasonable manner in the world. About ten
o'clock, M. Martout, having expressed a wish to hear his history, he
placed himself on a stool, collected his ideas for a moment, and asked
for a glass of water and sugar. The company seated themselves in a
circle around him, and he commenced the following narrative, the
slightly antiquated style of which craves your indulge