Willet and Tayoga were farther down on his own side of the table, and he could not see them, unless he leaned forward, which he was too well mannered to do.

Bigot sat at the foot of the table and at its head was Madame Pean, a native of Canada, born Mademoiselle Desmeloizes, young, handsome and uncommonly vivacious, dressed gorgeously in the latest Parisian style, and, as Robert put it to himself, coruscating with talk and smiles.
The dinner progressed amid a great loosening of tongues and much wit.
The perfume from the flowers on the table and the continuous playing of the band made the air heavier and more intoxicating.

It seemed to Robert that if these people had any cares they had dismissed them all for the time.

Their capacity for pleasure, for snatching at the incense of the fleeting moment, amazed him.

War might be coming, but tonight there was no thought of it.
Bigot toasted the two Bostonnais and the young Iroquois chief who were his guests in a flowery speech and Robert responded.