BRANDY TO THE RESCUE.
After the lapse of some seconds, the singular rapping which had so much surprised the guests, was again heard, but this time louder and longer.
"Waiter!" cried one of the party, "what in the devil's name is knocking?"
The waiter, exchanging with his comrades a look of uneasiness and alarm, stammered Out in reply: "Sir--it is--it is--"
"Well! I suppose it is some crabbed, cross-grained lodger, some animal, the enemy of joy, who is pounding on the floor of his room to warn us to sing less loud," said Ninny Moulin.
"Then, by a general rule," answered sententiously the pupil of the great painter, "if lodger or landlord ask for silence, tradition bids us reply by an infernal uproar, destined to drown all his remonstrances.Such, at least," added the scapegrace, modestly, are the foreign relations that I have always seen observed between neighboring powers."
This remark was received with general laughter and applause.During the tumult, Morok questioned one of the waiters, and then exclaimed in a shrill tone, which rose above the clamor: "I demand a hearing!"
"Granted!" cried the others, gayly.During the silence which followed the exclamation of Morok, the noise was again heard; it was this time quicker than before.
"The lodger is innocent," said Morok, with a strange smile, "and would be quite incapable of interfering with your enjoyment."
"Then why does he keep up that knocking?" said Ninny Moulin, emptying his glass.
"Like a deaf man who has lost his ear-horn?" added the young artist.
"It is not the lodger who is knocking" said Morok, in a sharp, quick tone; "for they are nailing him down in his coffin." A sudden and mournful silence followed these words.
"His coffin no, I am wrong," resumed Morok; "her coffin, I should say, or more properly their coffin; for, in these pressing times, they put mother and child together."
"A woman!" cried PLEASURE, addressing the writer; "is it a woman that is dead?"
"Yes, ma'am; a poor young woman about twenty years of age," answered the waiter in a sorrowful tone."Her little girl, that she was nursing, died soon after--all in less than two hours.My master is very sorry that you ladies and gents should be disturbed in this way; but he could not foresee this misfortune, as yesterday morning the young woman was quite well, and singing with all her might--no one could have been gayer than she was."
Upon these words, it was as if a funeral pall had been suddenly thrown over a scene lately so full of joy; all the rubicund and jovial faces took an expression of sadness; no one had the hardihood to make a jest of mother and child, nailed down together in the same coffin.The silence became so profound, that one could hear each breath oppressed by terror:
the last blows of the hammer seemed to strike painfully on every heart;
it appeared as if each sad feeling, until now repressed, was about to replace that animation and gayety, which had been more factitious than sincere.The moment was decisive.It was necessary to strike an immediate blow, and to raise the spirits of the guests, for many pretty rosy faces began to grow pale, many scarlet ears became suddenly white;
Ninny Moulin's were of the number.
On the contrary, Sleepinbuff exhibited an increase of audacity; he drew up his figure, bent down from the effects of exhaustion, and, with a cheek slightly flushed, he exclaimed: "Well, waiter? are those bottles of brandy coming? And the punch? Devil and all! are the dead to frighten the living?"
"He's right! Down with sorrow, and let's have the punch!" cried several of the guests, who felt the necessity of reviving their courage.
"Forward, punch!"
"Begone, dull care!"
"Jollity forever!"
"Gentlemen, here is the punch," said a waiter, opening the door.At sight of the flaming beverage, which was to reanimate their enfeebled spirits, the room rang with the loudest applause.
The sun had just set.The room was large, being capable of dining a hundred guests; and the windows were few, narrow, and half veiled by red cotton curtains.Though it was not yet night, some portions of this vast saloon were almost entirely dark.Two waiters brought the monster-punch, in an immense brass kettle, brilliant as gold, suspended from an iron bar, and crowned with flames of changing color.The burning beverage was then placed upon the table, to the great joy of the guests, who began to forget their past alarms.
"Now," said Jacques to Morok, in a taunting tone, "while the punch is burning, we will have our duel.The company shall judge." Then, pointing to the two bottles of brandy, which the waiter had brought, Jacques added: "Choose your weapon!"
"Do you choose," answered Morok.
"Well! here's your bottle--and here's your glass.Ninny Moulin shall be umpire."
"I do not refuse to be judge of the field," answered the religious writer, "only I must warn you, comrade, that you are playing a desperate game, and that just now, as one of these gentlemen has said, the neck of a bottle of brandy in one's mouth, is perhaps more dangerous than the barrel of a loaded pistol."
