"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."