"Alone, at last!" said Lord Antony, jovially.

Then the young Vicomte de Tournay rose, glass in hand, and with the
graceful affection peculiar to the times, he raised it aloft, and said
in broken English,--

"To His Majesty George Three of England. God bless him for his
hospitality to us all, poor exiles from France."

"His Majesty the King!" echoed Lord Antony and Sir Andrew as they drank
loyally to the toast.

"To His Majesty King Louis of France," added Sir Andrew, with solemnity.
"May God protect him, and give him victory over his enemies."

Everyone rose and drank this toast in silence. The fate of the
unfortunate King of France, then a prisoner of his own people, seemed to
cast a gloom even over Mr. Jellyband's pleasant countenance.

"And to M. le Comte de Tournay de Basserive," said Lord Antony, merrily.
"May we welcome him in England before many days are over."

"Ah, Monsieur," said the Comtesse, as with a slightly trembling hand she
conveyed her glass to her lips, "I scarcely dare to hope."

But already Lord Antony had served out the soup, and for the next few
moments all conversation ceased, while Jellyband and Sally handed round
the plates and everyone began to eat.

"Faith, Madame!" said Lord Antony, after a while, "mine was no idle