Father Roland meanwhile, to whose head the fumes of the wine were rising once more, had already forgotten his son’s advice and was eyeing a champagne-bottle with a tender leer as it stood, still nearly full, by the side of his plate.  He dared not touch it for fear of being lectured again, and he was wondering by what device or trick he could possess himself of it without exciting Pierre’s remark.  A ruse occurred to him, the simplest possible.  He took up the bottle with an air of indifference, and holding it by the neck, stretched his arm across the table to fill the doctor’s glass, which was empty; then he filled up all the other glasses, and when he came to his own he began talking very loud, so that if he poured anything into it they might have sworn it was done inadvertently.  And in fact no one took any notice.

Pierre, without observing it, was drinking a good deal.  Nervous and fretted, he every minute raised to his lips the tall crystal funnel where the bubbles were dancing in the living, translucent fluid.  He let the wine slip very slowly over his tongue, that he might feel the little sugary sting of the fixed air as it evaporated.

Gradually a pleasant warmth glowed in his frame.  Starting from the stomach as a centre, it spread to his chest, took possession of his limbs, and diffused itself throughout his flesh, like a warm and comforting tide, bringing pleasure with it.  He felt better now, less impatient, less annoyed, and his determination to speak to his brother that very evening faded away; not that he thought for a moment of giving it up, but simply not to disturb the happy mood in which he found himself.

Beausire presently rose to propose a toast.  Having bowed to the company, he began: 

“Most gracious ladies and gentlemen, we have met to do honour to a happy event which has befallen one of our friends.  It used to be said that Fortune was blind, but I believe that she is only short-sighted or tricksy, and that she has lately bought a good pair of glasses which enabled her to discover in the town of Havre the son of our worthy friend Roland, skipper of the Pearl.”

Every one cried bravo and clapped their hands, and the elder Roland rose to reply.  After clearing his throat, for it felt thick and his tongue was heavy, he stammered out: 

“Thank you, captain, thank you—­for myself and my son.  I shall never forget your behaviour on this occasion.  Here’s good luck to you!”

His eyes and nose were full of tears, and he sat down, finding nothing more to say.

Jean, who was laughing, spoke in his turn: 

“It is I,” said he, “who ought to thank my friends here, my excellent friends,” and he glanced at Mme. Rosemilly, “who have given me such a touching evidence of their affection.  But it is not by words that I can prove my gratitude.  I will prove it to-morrow, every hour of my life, always, for our friendship is not one of those which fade away.”