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Updated: May 24, 2025
"Bah!" said he, sending it on with a contemptuous fillip of the forefinger and thumb. "Glass and paste, mon ami. Not worth five francs of anybody's money." Müller, who had been eyeing him all the time with an odd smile lurking about the corners of his mouth, emptied his last drop of Chablis, turned the glass over on the table, bottom upwards, and said very coolly:
There is chambertin, champagne, chablis, tokayer and sherry." "Bring us some chambertin, then." "Oui, Messieurs." "Hurry along, my Hebe," said Maurice. The maid was not on familiar terms with the classics, but she told the butler in the pantry that the smooth-faced one made a charming Captain. "Keep your eyes open," grumbled the butler; "he'll be kissing you next."
Soames retraced his steps, and going into a celebrated eating-house, asked for a plate of smoked salmon and a glass of Chablis; he seldom ate much in the middle of the day, and generally ate standing, finding the position beneficial to his liver, which was very sound, but to which he desired to put down all his troubles.
"How's it coming on? Got a manager yet?" "Not yet. We were talking about getting some professionals in to brighten up the evening." "Good work! Those amateurs make me sick." "Mrs. Neff proposed that we get some stunning dancer to do a turn." "Not a bad idea. For instance " He emptied his glass of Chablis and the butler was standing by to refill it when Charity answered: "Mrs.
It would be a fit and appropriate wind-up to an auspicious evening. The cold chicken and modest brand of Chablis waiting for her at home should give way to a banquet of more festive nature.
He poured the Chablis on the back of Cheever's hand and neither noticed it till Charity laughed hysterically and drove the sword a little deeper: "Is she still alive? Have you seen her?" Cheever glared at her, breathed hard, swore at the butler, wiped his hand on his napkin, gnawed his lips, twisted his mustache, threw down the napkin, rose, and left the table.
He found it useless to try to attract the attention of either Madame de Melbain or Duncan, so he went in search of Wrayson. "Monsieur is served," he announced, looking blandly upwards at a passing cloud. "There remains the wine only." "Chablis of the best, and ice, and mineral water," Wrayson ordered. "Come, Louise."
We had a soup to-day, in which twenty kinds of vegetables were represented, and manifested each its own aroma; a fillet of stewed beef, and a fowl, in some sort of delicate fricassee. We had a bottle of Chablis, and renewed ourselves, at the close of the banquet, with a plate of Chateaubriand ice.
What a lobster, scarlet as the cap of a cardinal and garnished with crisp romaine! and the chickens! and the mutton! and the soufflé of potatoes, and the salad of shrimps Mon Dieu! What a luncheon, "sprayed," as the French say, with that rare old Chablis and mellow Burgundy!
"Could you tap a bottle of Chablis, with a few dozen oysters, and a filet saute with mushrooms to follow it?" said Laurent, who wished to win the postman's valuable friendship. "At half-past nine, when my round is finished Where?" "At the corner of the Rue de la Chaussee-d'Antin and the Rue Neuve-des-Mathurins, at the Puits sans Vin," said Laurent.
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