human
Another day you shall hear how my father carried the dead officers into the catacombs and left them there, and of two dangerous quests he made in those caves in search of us, and of a strange adventure which befell him. On Sunday week come and dine, and hear it all.
gpt
It is most interesting,
human
And this is the house, and we were in the cave,
gpt
And, said I,
human
Yes. A few years ago we found in a corner the baby’s rattle. The little fellow died last June, an old man, and the mother and the good, brave Duke are gone. And now you will sup with his son and grandson.
gpt
Ah, exclaimed young St. Maur.
human
Here is François and supper. Upon this the long, lean man who had admitted us said,
gpt
Monsieur is served. I shall carry in the wine. And he added, to me,
human
Monsieur may have let fall his handkerchief,
gpt
François, said Des Illes,
human
Monsieur will have his little jest, said François.
gpt
The supper waits.
human
What a delightful character! said Pierce.
gpt
And did he really pick my friend’s pocket?
human
Assuredly, said the Duke.
gpt
For many years he used now and then to ask a holiday. He commonly came back rather forlorn, and apt for a while to keep the house and be shy of gendarmes. It was our belief that he went off to get a little amusement in his old fashion. I suspect that he got into serious trouble once, but Des Illes is secretive.
human
And how old is he?
gpt
That no man knows, returned our host, rising.
human
To be asked his age is the one thing on earth known to annoy him. He says time is the only thief without honor among other thieves.
gpt
Queer, that, said I, as our host rose.
human
The old have commonly a strange pride in their age.
gpt
I have none,
human
This way,
gpt
Monsieur, our good fortune has brought you here to-night, on the evening when once in each year we sup together in the mourning costume which may have excited your curiosity.
human
On this day we, who are among the few who remember the Terror, meet because it is January the twenty-first. On this day died Louis Sixteenth. You will join us, I trust, in a glass of older wine in remembrance of our dead King. Thus speaking, he rose and himself took from the mantel-shelf a bottle.
gpt
It is of the vintage of 1793, an old Burgundy. Its name I do not know, but, as you see, each bottle was marked by my father with a black ribbon.
human
The King, to his memory.
gpt
It shows its age. said Des Illes,
human
One would scarce know it for the wine we knew when it and we were young,
gpt
Know it? said Des Illes.
human
Ah me, dear Duke, if you yourself, aged twenty-five, were to walk in just now and say, ’_Bon jour_, Duke, how is myself,’ would you know him, think you?
gpt
With all my heart,
human
Let it be the Clos Vougeot of ’20, said the younger St. Maur.
gpt
It was with that wonderful vintage that I made my first entry into the highest society of the great wines.
human
A fine seigneur is that,
gpt
It reminds me rather of some grande dame, returned St. Maur.
human
There is something haughty about the refinement of a high-caste Burgundy: a combination of decisive individual quality with good manners.
gpt
How pretty that is! said Pierce.
human
The good manners of a wine!
gpt
And is n’t champagne just a bit like a grisette? laughed the Duke.
human
But a Margaux like this, or the Romance I see yonder, are grandees, as my friend has said; and there might be more to say of them, but I leave the rest to your fancy. A little more Burgundy, Monsieur?