The prince gave a shout of triumph as he waved the glass on high; then he put his lips, avidly, to the place at which she had drunk and emptied it at a draught.
"_Hoch! Hoch!_" he roared. "Up, comrades! Every one on his chair, with one foot on the table! Up, conquerors of the world! Sing the strength of Germany! Sing German gallantry!
"'The Rhine, the free, the German Rhine They shall not have while gallant boys Still tell of love to slender maids. . . .'
"Élisabeth, I have drunk Rhine wine from your glass. Élisabeth, I know what you are thinking. Her thoughts are of love, my comrades! I am the master! Oh, Parisienne! . . . You dear little Parisienne! . . . It's Paris we want! . . . Oh, Paris, Paris! . . ."
His foot slipped. The glass fell from his hand and smashed against the neck of a bottle. He dropped on his knees on the table, amid a crash of broken plates and glasses, seized a flask of liqueur and rolled to the floor, stammering:
"We want Paris. . . . Paris and Calais. . . . Papa said so. . . . The Arc de Triomphe! . . . The Café Anglais! . . . A _cabinet particulier_ at the Café Anglais! . . ."
The uproar suddenly stopped. The Comtesse Hermine's imperious voice was raised in command:
"Go away, all of you! Go home! And be quick about it, gentlemen, if you please."
The officers and the ladies soon made themselves scarce. Outside, on the other side of the house, there was a great deal of whistling. The cars at once drove up from the garage. A general departure took place.
Meanwhile the Countess had beckoned to the servants and, pointing to Prince Conrad, said:
The prince was removed at once. Then the Comtesse Hermine went up to Élisabeth.
Not five minutes had elapsed since the prince rolled under the table; and, after the din of the banquet, a great silence reigned in the disorderly room where the two women were now by themselves. Élisabeth had once more hidden her head in her hands and was weeping violently with sobs that shook her shoulders. The Comtesse Hermine sat down beside her and gently touched her on the arm.
The two women looked at each other without a word. It was a strange glance that they exchanged, a glance laden with mutual hatred. Paul did not take his eyes from them. As he watched the two of them, he could not doubt that they had met before and that the words which they were about to speak were but the sequel and conclusion of some earlier discussion. But what discussion? And what did Élisabeth know of the Comtesse Hermine? Did she accept that woman, for whom she felt such loathing, as her mother?