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Updated: June 24, 2025
"Leoville or Chambertin?" murmured a waiter, who came craning forward between Nana and Steiner just as the latter was addressing her in a low voice. "Eh, what?" he stammered, losing his head. "Whatever you like I don't care." Vandeuvres gently nudged Lucy Stewart, who had a very spiteful tongue and a very fierce invention when once she was set going.
It happened that we had in our cellar some fine claret; a few magnums of Léoville, '74, a present from a millionaire friend. We never drank it except upon great occasions. Ajax suggested a bottle of this elixir, not entirely out of charity. Such tipple would warm a graven image into speech, and my brother is inordinately curious.
M. Lecoq tried hard to make his companion eat something, to take at least some soup and a glass of old Bordeaux; but he soon saw the uselessness of his efforts and went on with his dinner as if he were alone. He was very thoughtful, but any uncertainty of the result of his plans never entered his head. He drank much and often, and soon emptied his bottle of Leoville.
Johnson appeared to be prosperous, but slightly Gallicised. "How is Ajax?" he murmured. "Ajax has grown fat. Can't you dine with me?" "It's my turn. We must order a bottle of Léoville at once." "You sent that wine," I exclaimed. There was no note of interrogation in my voice. I knew. "Yes," he said indifferently; "it will be worth drinking in about ten years' time."
Having worked diligently through nearly two years on the second volume of "The History of Woman Suffrage," I looked forward with pleasure to a rest, in the Old World, beyond the reach and sound of my beloved Susan and the woman suffrage movement. On May 27, 1892, I sailed with my daughter Harriot on the Château Léoville for Bordeaux.
The way he wound it up, accompanied as this was with another drop back, another degustation of the Leoville, another wipe of his moustache and another good word for Francois, seemed to produce in his companion a slight irritation. "Then what the devil DO you know?" "Well," said Strether almost gaily, "I guess I don't know anything!"
All appetites were excited by the drive in the fresh air, and the guests did honor to the pates, salads, and cold chicken, accompanied by Leoville, which Jacquemin tasted and pronounced drinkable.
Julien, sir; Bung's Leoville is considered remarkably fine; and I think you'd like Jugger's Chateau-Margaux. PAPWORTHY. 'Hum! hah! well give me a crust of bread and a glass of beer. I'll only LUNCH, Poppins. Captain Shindy is another sort of Club bore. He has been known to throw all the Club in an uproar about the quality of his mutton-chop. 'Look at it, sir! Is it cooked, sir? Smell it, sir!
Our guest had nothing to give to us except his confidence, and that he had withheld. We decanted the claret very carefully. As soon as our guest tasted it, he sighed and said quietly "I never expected to taste that again. It's Léoville, isn't it? And in exquisite condition." He sipped the wine in silence, while I thought of the bundle of foul rags upon our rubbish heap.
I'll admit that the warm water removed some encrusted mud from my mind, but it sharpened rather then obscured my resolution to make the most of what looked like a last chance. But when you uncorked that Léoville, shame spoiled it for me." "You drank only two glasses, I remember." "It brought everything back everything!
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