Even if she had been actually in the room with them, she would
have found much of their conversation incomprehensible, as it was
largely made up of the extraordinary slang of the Paris street Arabs
and rascals generally. From time to time one or the other of the
participants in this orgy seemed to propose a toast, whereupon they
would all clink their glasses together before raising them to their
lips, drain them at a draught, and applaud vociferously, while there was
a constant drawing of corks and placing of fresh bottles on the table
by the servant who was waiting upon them. Just as Isabelle, thoroughly
disgusted with the brutality of the scene before her, was about to turn
away, Malartic rapped loudly on the table to obtain a hearing, and after
making a proposition, which met with ready and cordial assent, rose
from his seat, cleared his throat, and began to sing, or rather shout,
a ribald song, all the others joining in the chorus, with horrible
grimaces and gesticulations, which so frightened poor Isabelle that she
could scarcely find strength to creep away from the loathsome spectacle.
Before re-entering the house she went to look at the drawbridge, with a
faint hope that she might chance upon some unexpected means of escape,
but all was secure there, and a little postern, opening on the moat,
which she discovered near by, was also carefully fastened, with bolts
and bars strong enough to keep out an army.
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