“His Most Christian Majesty. His Most Catholic Majesty. His Most Faithful Majesty.” That disposed of France and Spain and Portugal. “His Majesty the King of the Netherlands.”
For the life of him he could not remember who came next. But Gerard caught his despairing eye and gave a significant jerk of his thumb.
“His Majesty the King of Sweden,” gulped Hornblower. “His Majesty the King of Prussia.”
A reassuring nod from Gerard told him that he had now included all the nations represented, and he plucked the rest of his speech out of the whirlpool of his mind.
“Long may Their Majesties reign, in increasing honour and glory.”
Well, that was over, and he could sit down again. But now the Governor was on his feet, speaking in rhetorical phrases, and it broke in upon Hornblower’s dulled intelligence that his own health was the next to be drunk. He tried to listen. He was aware of keen glances shot at him from around the table when the Governor alluded to the defence of this city of New Orleans from the ‘misguided hordes’ who had assailed it in vain – the allusion was perhaps inevitable even though it was over six years since the battle – and he tried to force a smile. At long last the Governor reached his end.
“His Lordship Admiral Hornblower, and I couple with his name a toast to the British Navy.”
Hornblower climbed back upon his feet as the approving murmur of the company died down.
“Thank you for this unexpected honour,” he said, and gulped as he sought for further words. “And to have my name coupled with that of the great navy in which it has been my privilege to serve so long is an additional honour for which to thank you.”
The ladies were all rising, now that he had sat down, and he stood again while they withdrew. The highly trained footmen swept the table clear of its accessories in a trice, and the men gathered to one end of the table as the decanter was put into circulation. The glasses were filled as Sharpe brought one of the merchants present into the conversation with a question about the cotton crop. It was safe ground from which to make brief and cautious sorties upon the much more debatable ground of world conditions. But only a few minutes later the butler came in and murmured something to Sharpe, who turned to convey the news he brought to the French Consul-General. Vautour rose to his feet with an expression of dismay.
“Perhaps you will accept my excuses, sir,” he said. “I much regret the necessity.”
“No more than I regret it, Baron,” said Sharpe. “I trust it is only a slight indisposition.”
“I trust so,” said Vautour.
“The Baroness finds herself indisposed,” explained Sharpe to the company. “I am sure you gentlemen will all join me in hoping, as I said, that the indisposition is slight, and regretting that it involves the loss to us of the Baron’s charming company.”
There was a sympathetic murmur, and Vautour turned to Cambronne.
“Shall I send back the carriage for you, Count?” he asked.
Cambronne pulled at his cat’s-whisker moustache.
“Perhaps it might be better if I came with you,” he said. “Much as I regret leaving this delightful assembly.”
The two Frenchmen took their leave, after polite farewells.
“It is a great pleasure having made your acquaintance, milord,” said Cambronne, bowing to Hornblower. The stiffness of his bow was mitigated by the twinkle in his eye.
“It has been a profound experience to meet so distinguished a soldier of the late Empire,” replied Hornblower.
The Frenchmen were escorted out of the room by Sharpe, voluble in his regrets.
“Your glasses need refilling, gentlemen,” said Sharpe on his return.
There was nothing Hornblower disliked more than drinking large glasses of port in a hot and humid room, even though he now found himself free to discuss the Florida question with the Spanish Consul-General. He was glad when Sharpe made the move to rejoin the ladies. Somewhere within earshot of the drawing-room a string orchestra was playing, but luckily in a subdued manner, so that Hornblower was spared much of the irritation that he usually suffered when he was compelled to listen to music with his tone-deaf ear. He found himself sitting next to one of the pretty young women beside whom Cambronne had been sitting at dinner. In reply to her questions he was forced to admit that on this, his first day, he had seen almost nothing of the city of New Orleans, but the admission led to a discussion of other places he had visited. Two cups of coffee, poured for him by a footman passing round the drawing-room, cleared his head a little; the young woman was attentive and listened well, and nodded sympathetically when the conversation revealed that Hornblower had left behind, at the call of duty, a wife and a ten-year-old son in England.