It was
as if I were reading a Book of Bacchus. I drank on evenly, not
doggedly, and answered jest for jest without a hot breath of
drunkenness. I looked several times at Juste Duvarney, who sat not
far away, on the other side of the table, behind a grand piece
of silver filled with October roses. He was drinking hard, and
Doltaire, sitting beside him, kept him at it. At last the silver
piece was shifted, and he and I could see each other fairly. Now
and then Doltaire spoke across to me, but somehow no word passed
between Duvarney and myself.
Suddenly, as if by magic--I know it was preconcerted--the talk
turned on the events of the evening and on the defeat of the
British. Then, too, as strangely I began to be myself again, amid
a sense of my position grew upon me. I had been withdrawn from
all real feeling and living for hours, but I believe that same
suspension was my salvation. For with every man present deeply gone
in liquor round me--every man save Doltaire--I was sane and steady,
and settling into a state of great alertness, determined on escape,
if that could be, and bent on turning every chance to serve my
purposes.
Pages:
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71