The roisterers flocked down the steps to the street.

One fell into a drift and lay there sobbing.
"What now ?" asked the vicomte.
"I am sorry," said the inebriate.
"The devil! The Chevalier has a friend here," laughed the vicomte, assisting the roisterer to his feet.

"Come along, Saumaise." "I shall wait." "As you please;" and the vicomte continued on.
Victor watched them till they dwindled into the semblance of so many ravens.

He rubbed his fevered face with snow, and waited.
Meantime the Chevalier returned to the table.

"Drink, you beggars; drink, I say!" The sword swept the table, crashing among the bottles and glasses and candlesticks, "Take the news to Paris, fools! Spell it largely! It will amuse the court.