Wood, in a whisper, as he filled a rummer to the brim, not to forget the health of the Chevalier de Saint George—a proposition to which the lady immediately responded by drinking the toast aloud. She stared down at them from a high window, peering down at their moonlit faces in the bed heavy with furs, the same bed where she had given birth to Gianfrancesco’s dead son. ’ ‘Did I so?’ Gerald said, amused. “By Jove!” he broke out, “one tries to take a serious, sober view. ‘I don’t know that I dare. But I can give it its name now.
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