“Vive la Compagneia!”

Again the raucous voice bawled aloud,

    “Und fahr’ damit in’s Unterland:” 

and again the thunder of the chorus, this time prolonged, with much beating of time on the table, and jangling of wine-glasses,

    “Vive la Compagneia! 
     Vive la, vive la, vive la, va! vive la, vive la, hopsasa! 
     Vive la Compagneia!”

And so on to the end, the chorus becoming stormier and more thunderous than ever; then, when peace had been restored, there was a general rising, though here and there a final glass was drunk with “stosst an! setzt an! fertig! los!” and its attendant ceremonies.  The meeting had broken up by common consent; there was a shuffling of footsteps, and some disjointed talking and calling down the empty hall, were the lights were already being put out.

Reitzei had set silent during all this chorus-singing, though ordinarily, being an excitable person, and indeed rather proud of his voice, he was ready to roar with any one; and in silence, too, he walked away with Beratinsky, who either was or appeared to be quite unconscious of his companion’s state of mind.  At length Reitzei stopped short—­Oxford Street at this time of the morning was perfectly silent—­and said,

“Beratinsky, I have a word to say to you.”

“Very well,” said the other, though he seemed surprised.

“I may tell you your manners are none of the best.”

Beratinsky looked at him.

“Nor your temper,” said he, “one would think.  Do you still go back to what I said about your piece of acting?  You are a child, Reitzei.”

“I do not care about that,” said Reitzei, contemptuously, though he was not speaking the truth:  his self-satisfaction had been grievously hurt.  “You put too great a value on your opinion, Beratinsky; it is not everything that you know about:  we will let that pass.  But when one goes into a society as a guest, one expects to be treated as a guest.  No matter; I was among my own countrymen:  I was well enough entertained.”

“It appears so,” said Beratinsky, with a sneer:  “I should say too well.  My dear friend Reitzei, I am afraid you have been having a little too much champagne.”

“It was none that you paid for, at all events,” was the quick retort.  “No matter; I was among my own countrymen:  they are civil; they are not niggardly.”

“They can afford to spend,” said the other, laughing sardonically, “out of the plunder they take from others.”

“They have fought for what they have,” the other said, hotly.  “Your countrymen—­what have they ever done?  Have they fought?  No; they have conspired, and then run away.”

But Beratinsky was much too cool-blooded a man to get into a quarrel of this kind; besides, he noticed that Reitzei’s speech was occasionally a little thick.

“I would advise you to go home and get to bed, friend Reitzei,” said he.