Vanity Fair - Page 258/573

Jos's spirits rose with his meal. He would drink the regiment's

health; or, indeed, take any other excuse to indulge in a glass of

champagne. "We'll drink to O'Dowd and the brave --th," said he, bowing

gallantly to his guest. "Hey, Mrs. O'Dowd? Fill Mrs. O'Dowd's glass,

Isidor."

But all of a sudden, Isidor started, and the Major's wife laid down her

knife and fork. The windows of the room were open, and looked

southward, and a dull distant sound came over the sun-lighted roofs

from that direction. "What is it?" said Jos. "Why don't you pour, you

rascal?"

"Cest le feu!" said Isidor, running to the balcony.

"God defend us; it's cannon!" Mrs. O'Dowd cried, starting up, and

followed too to the window. A thousand pale and anxious faces might

have been seen looking from other casements. And presently it seemed

as if the whole population of the city rushed into the streets.