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And before he knew where he was, there was Gus for the first time in his life drinking Clos-Vougeot. Gus said he had never tasted Bergamy before, at which the bailiff sneered, and told him the name of the wine. "Old Clo! What?" says Gus; and we laughed: but the Hebrew gents did not this time. "Come, come, sir!" says Mr.
Speak: shall he who hath bearded grim Death in a thousand fields shame to face truth from a friend? Speak, in the name of heaven and good Saint Botibol. Romane de Clos-Vougeot will bear your tidings like a man!" "Fatima is well," answered Philibert once again; "she hath had no measles: she lives and is still fair." "Fair, ay, peerless fair; but what more, Philibert? Not false?
He raised his visor as the smiling princess guerdoned him raised it, and gave ONE sad look towards the Lady Fatima at her side! "Romane de Clos-Vougeot!" shrieked she, and fainted.
By Saint Botibol, say not false," groaned the elder warrior. "A month syne," Philibert replied, "she married the Baron de Barbazure." With that scream which is so terrible in a strong man in agony, the brave knight Romane de Clos-Vougeot sank back at the words, and fell from his charger to the ground, a lifeless mass of steel.
In his seclusions the Vin de Bourgogne had its allotted hour, and there were appropriate moments for the Côtes du Rhône. With him Sauternes was to Médoc what Catullus was to Homer. He would sport with a syllogism in sipping St. Péray, but unravel an argument over Clos-Vougeot, and upset a theory in a torrent of Chambertin.
Thus he fell a victim to his own jealousy: and the agitation of the Lady Fatima may be imagined, when the executioner, flinging off his mask, knelt gracefully at her feet, and revealed to her the well-known features of Romane de Clos-Vougeot.
This mighty horseman was carried by his steed as lightly as the young springald by his Andalusian hackney. "'Twas well done of thee, Philibert," said he of the proof-armor, "to ride forth so far to welcome thy cousin and companion in arms." "Companion in battledore and shuttlecock, Romane de Clos-Vougeot!" replied the younger Cavalier.
The love of good living seems to be constantly confounded with gluttony and voracity; whence I infer that our lexicographers, however otherwise estimable, are not to be classed with those good fellows amongst learned men who can put away gracefully a wing of partridge, and then, by raising the little finger, wash it down with a glass of Lafitte or Clos-Vougeot.
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