"Drink my health, child! The health of your lord and master! What's this? You refuse? . . . Ah, I see, you don't like champagne! Quite right! Down with champagne! What you want is hock, good Rhine wine, eh, baby? You're thinking of one of your country's songs: 'We held it once, your German Rhine! It babbled in our brimming glass!' Rhine wine, there!" With one movement, the officers rose and started shouting: _Die Wacht am Rhein_ "They shall not have our German Rhine, Tho' like a flock of hungry crows They shriek their lust . . ." "No, they shan't have it," rejoined the prince, angrily, "but you shall drink it, little one!" Another glass had been filled. Once more he tried to force Élisabeth to lift it to her lips; and, when she pushed it away, he began to whisper in her ear, while the wine dribbled over her dress. Everybody was silent, waiting to see what would happen. Élisabeth turned paler than ever, but did not move. The prince, leaning over her, showed the face of a brute who alternately threatens, pleads, commands and insults. It was a heart-rending sight. Paul would have given his life to see Élisabeth yield to a fit of disgust and stab her insulter. Instead of that, she threw back her head, closed her eyes and half-swooning, accepted the chalice and swallowed a few mouthfuls. The prince gave a shout of triumph as he waved the glass on high; then he put his lips, avidly, to the place at which she had drunk and emptied it at a draught. "_Hoch! Hoch!_" he roared. "Up, comrades! Every one on his chair, with one foot on the table! Up, conquerors of the world! Sing the strength of Germany! Sing German gallantry! "'The Rhine, the free, the German Rhine They shall not have while gallant boys Still tell of love to slender maids. . . .' "Élisabeth, I have drunk Rhine wine from your glass. Élisabeth, I know what you are thinking. Her thoughts are of love, my comrades! I am the master! Oh, Parisienne! . . . You dear little Parisienne! . . . It's Paris we want! . . . Oh, Paris, Paris! . . ." His foot slipped. The glass fell from his hand and smashed against the neck of a bottle. He dropped on his knees on the table, amid a crash of broken plates and glasses, seized a flask of liqueur and rolled to the floor, stammering: "We want Paris. . . . Paris and Calais. . . . Papa said so. . . . The Arc de Triomphe! . . . The Café Anglais! . . . A _cabinet particulier_ at the Café Anglais! . . ." The uproar suddenly stopped. The Comtesse Hermine's imperious voice was raised in command: "Go away, all of you! Go home! And be quick about it, gentlemen, if you please." The officers and the ladies soon made themselves scarce. Outside, on the other side of the house, there was a great deal of whistling. The cars at once drove up from the garage. A general departure took place. Meanwhile the Countess had beckoned to the servants and, pointing to Prince Conrad, said: "Carry him to his room."