Every one cried bravo and clapped their hands, and the elder Roland rose to reply. After clearing his throat, for it felt thick and his tongue was heavy, he stammered out:
"Thank you, captain, thank you—for myself and my son. I shall never forget your behaviour on this occasion. Here's good luck to you!"
His eyes and nose were full of tears, and he sat down, finding nothing more to say.
Jean, who was laughing, spoke in his turn:
"It is I," said he, "who ought to thank my friends here, my excellent friends," and he glanced at Mme. Rosémilly, "who have given me such a touching evidence of their affection. But it is not by words that I can prove my gratitude. I will prove it to-morrow, every hour of my life, always, for our friendship is not one of those which fade away."
His mother, deeply moved, murmured: "Well said, my boy."
But Beausire cried out:
"Come, Mme. Rosémilly, speak on behalf of the fair sex."
She raised her glass, and in a pretty voice, slightly touched with sadness, she said: "I will pledge you to the memory of M. Maréchal."
There was a few moments' lull, a pause for
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