At the end of the meal—a good meal, well-cooked, and served in a way that
had nothing of the slap-dash-bang to which one was accustomed in the
dining-room—Zwinger went around with cigars, pressing the best and
longest upon the acceptance of the company, detained frequently in the
course of his tour by affectionate greetings, by honest congratulations
on the meal. He spoke in the ear of the Chairman—a Sub-Prefect, so Mr.
Honoré assured me, nothing less—and scuttled back to his seat just in
time to assume an attitude of listening as the Chairman rose.
We were assembled, said the Chairman, to honour and acclaim once more the
day of September, that was ever in our hearts. (Very good.) We were
assembled to do honour to those who fought with us on that great day, and
fell beside us for the honour and glory of France. (Very good, very
good.) We were here— The Chairman called gesture to the aid of
eloquence, swinging his left arm with a backward movement; guests leaned
forward to miss nothing, their faces becoming flushed as he proceeded,
eyes filling as he recited the names of those who had gone from this
world since the last meeting. His rapidity of utterance increased: the
guests panted as they followed eagerly: one man rose in his excitement,
and neighbours pulled him down. At the door of the kitchen, the two
girls, bearing trays of coffee, waited, trembling with excitement so that
the cups rattled. A perfect cascade of phrases; glory, country, honour,
comrades, revenge, every word rushing past the others, and then Zwinger
sprang to his feet, echoed the toast wildly, and, holding his glass,
clinked it with mine, clinked it with Mr. Honoré’s, saluted the company,
drank, and sat down.
* * * * *
The carpenters were early at work the following morning, joining thus to
their duties the functions of an alarum clock. As I went out for a
stroll at eight, intending to go so far as the fringe of the woods and
back, I saw Zwinger walking up and down outside the restaurant, his hands
deep in jacket pockets.
“My felicitations,” I said, cheerily, “on the enormous success of—”
Zwinger gave one of his monosyllables that express disinclination for
speech, disinclination to listen to speech from other people. Turning,
he slippered away.