ng remembrance, marshal; that was in 1771. It was tokay, from the imperial cellar."
"It was like that with which my maître-d'hôtel will now have the honor to fill your glass," replied Richelieu, bowing.
Count Haga raised his glass, and looked through it. The wine sparkled in the light like liquid rubies. "It is true," said he; "marshal, I thank you."
These words were uttered in a manner so noble, that the guests, as if by a common impulse, rose, and cried,--
"Long live the king!"
"Yes," said Count Haga, "long live his majesty the King of France. What say you, M. de la Pérouse?"
"My lord," replied the captain, with that tone, at once flattering and respectful, common to those accustomed to address crowned heads, "I have just left the king, and his majesty has shown me so much kindness, that no one will more willingly cry 'Long live the king' than I. Only, as in another hour I must leave you to join the two ships which his majesty has put at my dispos
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