French Toast

She was having trouble following the animated conversation at dinner. She was okay with French, one-to-one, if the other person spoke clearly, but it was hard to distill even the most familiar words from this rat-a-tat drumroll of rippling ‘R’s. She began to drift into her own thoughts. Suddenly all the faces at the table were turned toward her expectantly. She was the proverbial deer in the headlights. Quickly she held up her glass.
     “Salut!” she proclaimed.
     A pause, then her host raised her glass in reply.
     She wished she knew what she was toasting.