The post-prandial orator was in the midst of his toast, the
champagne-foam ran over the edge of his glass and trickled down his fat
fingers, his lungs were expanded and his vocal chords strained to the
utmost in the delivery of the well-rounded period upon which he was
launched, and the blood was rushing to his head in the generous
enthusiasm of the moment. In that brilliant circle of guests every man
held his hand in readiness on the slender stem of his glass and waited,
all attention, for the toast to come to an end in a final dazzling
display of oratorical pyrotechnics. The attendants hastened to fill the
half-empty glasses, and the leader of the gypsy orchestra, which was
stationed at the farther end of the hall, held his violin-bow in the
air, ready to fall in at the right moment with a burst of melody that
should drown the clinking of glasses at the close of the toast.
The post-prandial orator was in the midst of his toast, the
champagne-foam ran over the edge of his glass and trickled down his fat
fingers, his lungs were expanded and his vocal chords strained to the
utmost in the delivery of the well-rounded period upon which he was
launched, and the blood...