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"Nine o'clock, M'shi Grande," said Absalom in the uninflected voice of a good servant who states a fact unqualified by personal opinion. Grandemont rose to his feet. In their time all the Charleses had been proven, and they were gallant losers. "Serve dinner," he said calmly.
He must have drifted into a dream and an extravagant one for he was master of Charleroi and Adèle was his wife. She was coming out to him now; he could hear her steps; he could feel her hand upon his shoulder "Pardon moi, M'shi Grande" it was Absalom's hand touching him, it was Absalom's voice, speaking the patois of the blacks "but it is eight o'clock." Eight o'clock. Grandemont sprang up.
Absalom, the former major domo, and a half-dozen of the younger men, once waiters and attachés of the kitchen, pantry, and other domestic departments crowded around to greet "M'shi Grande." Absalom guaranteed to marshal, of these, a corps of assistants that would perform with credit the serving of the dinner.
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