A cavalry officer with a monocle immovably screwed in his right eye demanded the attention of the company, and failed to get it.
"We all know what we have done ourselves, and what we failed to do. I give you the toast of our noble Allies, without whom there would be no Armistice to-night. I drink to the glory of France"
The words were heard at several tables, and for once there was a general acknowledgment of the toast.
"Vive la France!"
The shout thundered out from all the tables, so that the candelabra rattled. Five French interpreters in various parts of the room rose to respond.
There were shouts of "The Stars and Stripes—good old Yanks—Well done, the U.S.A.!" and I was sorry Dr. Small was still at Valenciennes. I should like him to have heard those shouts. An American staff-officer was on his feet, raising his glass to "England."
Charles Fortune stood up at my table. He reminded me exceedingly at that moment of old prints portraying George IV in his youth—"the First Gentleman of Europe"—slightly flushed, with an air of noble dignity, and a roguish eye.
"Go to it, Fortune," said Brand. "Nobody's listening, so you can say what you like."
"Gentlemen," said Fortune, "I venture to propose the health of our late enemy, the Germans."
Young Clatworthy gave an hysterical guffaw.
"We owe them a very great debt," said Fortune. "But for their simplicity of nature and amiability of character, the British Empire—that glorious conglomeration of races upon which the sun utterly declines to set—would have fallen into decay and debility, as a second-class Power. Before the war the German Empire was gain-
