While waiting for the quarrel that both were planning, Philippe showed admirable coolness, and Max a distracting gayety; but to an observer, each was playing a part.
When the desert was served Philippe rose and said: "Fill your glasses, my friends! I ask permission to propose the first toast." "He said _my friends_, don't fill your glass," whispered Renard to Max.
Max poured out some wine.
"To the Grand Army!" cried Philippe, with genuine enthusiasm.
"To the Grand Army!" was repeated with acclamation by every voice.
At this moment eleven private soldiers, among whom were Benjamin and Kouski, appeared at the door of the room and repeated the toast,-- "To the Grand Army!" "Come in, my sons; we are going to drink His health." The old soldiers came in and stood behind the officers.
"You see He is not dead!" said Kouski to an old sergeant, who had perhaps been grieving that the Emperor's agony was over.
"I claim the second toast," said Mignonnet, as he rose.

"Let us drink to those who attempted to restore his son!" Every one present, except Maxence Gilet, bowed to Philippe Bridau, and stretched their glasses towards him.
"One word," said Max, rising.
"It is Max! it is Max!" cried voices outside; and then a deep silence reigned in the room and in the street, for Gilet's known character made every one expect a taunt.
"May we _all_ meet again at this time next year," said Max, bowing ironically to Philippe.
"It's coming!" whispered Kouski to his neighbor.
"The Paris police would never allow a banquet of this kind," said Potel to Philippe.
"Why do the devil to you mention the police to Colonel Bridau ?" said Maxence insolently.
"Captain Potel--_he_--meant no insult," said Philippe, smiling coldly.
The stillness was so profound that the buzzing of a fly could have been heard if there had been one.
"The police were sufficiently afraid of me," resumed Philippe, "to send me to Issoudun,--a place where I have had the pleasure of meeting old comrades, but where, it must be owned, there is a dearth of amusement.
For a man who doesn't despise folly, I'm rather restricted.

However, it is certainly economical, for I am not one of those to whom feather-beds give incomes; Mariette of the Grand Opera cost me fabulous sums." "Is that remark meant for me, my dear colonel ?" asked Max, sending a glance at Philippe which was like a current of electricity.
"Take it as you please," answered Bridau.
"Colonel, my two friends here, Renard and Potel, will call to-morrow on--" "-- on Mignonnet and Carpentier," answered Philippe, cutting short Max's sentence, and motioning towards his two neighbors.
"Now," said Max, "let us go on with the toasts." The two adversaries had not raised their voices above the tone of ordinary conversation; there was nothing solemn in the affair except the dead silence in which it took place.
"Look here, you others!" cried Philippe, addressing the soldiers who stood behind the officers; "remember that our affairs don't concern the bourgeoisie--not a word, therefore, on what goes on here.

It is for the Old Guard only." "They'll obey orders, colonel," said Renard.

"I'll answer for them." "Long live His little one! May he reign over France!" cried Potel.
"Death to Englishmen!" cried Carpentier.
That toast was received with prodigious applause.
"Shame on Hudson Lowe," said Captain Renard.
The dessert passed off well; the libations were plentiful.