All the rest sat at the table, talking over the splendor of the supper,
and proposing to hold a second one at the famous Philippe's, in the Rue
Montorgueil. But Mr. Freckle, being again emboldened by wine, and
affronted at the subordinate position assigned him, repeatedly cried
that, for his part, he preferred the "old Latin Quarter," and challenged
the chairman to produce a finer repast than Magny's in the Rue
Counterscarp.
Pisgah, newly clothed _cap-a-pie_, was drinking absinthe, and with his
absent eyes, worn face and changing hairs, looked like the spectre of
his former self. Now and then he raised his head to give unconscious
assent to something, but immediately relapsed to the worship of his
nepenthe; and, as the long potations sent strong fumes to his temples,
he chuckled audibly, and gathered his jaws to his eyes in a vacant grin.
The gross, coarse woman at his side, from whom the other females shrank
with frequent demonstrations of contempt, was Pisgah's _blanchisseuse_.
He was in her debt, and paid her with compliments; she is old and
uninviting, and he owes her eight hundred francs. Hers are the new
garments which he wears to-night. Few knew how many weary hours she
labored for them in the floating houses upon the Seine.
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