And his ruddy little face, beaming at the head of the table, wore an extravagant, infectious grin.

His quick blue eyes danced with the light of some ineffable joke.

He seemed a conjurer, creating banquets for sheer mischief in the wilderness.
"There's a soup!" he had proclaimed.

"Patent, mind ye! Stick a knife into the tin, and she 'eats 'erself!" Among all the revelers, one face alone showed melancholy.

Chantel, at the foot of the table, sat unregarded by all save Rudolph, who now and then caught from him a look filled with gloom and suspicion.