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Updated: May 27, 2025
But I don't care about it at all. It is not so very amusing at Madame de Lyr's. She always invites such a number of serious people. No doubt they are influential people, and may prove useful, but what does that matter to me? Come to dinner. You know that there is a bottle left of that famous Pomard; I have kept it for your partridge.
"And I'm quite sure," said the valet, "that the count intended to apply to you for the address of the person who wrote the letter." "Are you sure of that?" "As sure as I am of drinking Pomard!" exclaimed M. Casimir, draining his glass. Rarely had the agent experienced such emotion. He did not doubt but what this missive contained the solution of the mystery.
"Pomard!" would slowly fall from his lips, or "Acceptable Musigny!" "This Chambertin is really very fair!" "The Chateau Yquem is not half bad!" etc., etc.
Slowly he followed the retreating form of the doctor and Margaret, his hands clenched. For some seconds he stood immovable, then he broke hastily into the woods, cross-cutting back to his pantry. "Damn him!" he muttered, as he squeezed the cork from a bottle of Pomard. "I hadn't a second to lose!"
I won't offer you a glass of Madeira we shall dine at once. Ah! my dear fellow, you have turned up at the right moment; we are going to taste the first melon of the year this evening." "Unfortunately, I never eat melons, though I like to see others do so." "Well, then, I will offer you consolation by seeking out a bottle of my old Pomard for you.
The cloth was white, the cutlery bright, the oysters fresh; the partridge, cooked to perfection, exhaled a delightful odor. Madame was charming, and laughed at everything. Monsieur unbent his brows and stretched himself on the chair. Monsieur This Pomard is very good. Won't you have some, little dear? Madame Yes, your little dear will. Monsieur Ah! you have put on your Louis Seize ring.
Exquisite bread of the Café Cluny, exquisite first glass of old Pomard tingling to my wet feet, indescribable first olive culled from the hors d'oeuvre I suppose, when I come to lie dying, and the lamp begins to grow dim, I shall still recall your savour.
His garrulousness, which was an irritation in the afternoon, was an amusement as he laid the cloth and told me the bill of fare; moreover, I had to consult him about the wine, and I liked to hear him telling me in his strong Southern accent of a certain wine of the country, as good as Pomard and as strong, and which would be known all over the world, only it did not bear transportation.
How could he sit among them, at social wine parties, perhaps, or at social little dinners, that were washed down with nonpareil and chambertin, pomard and champagne?
"Pomard!" would slowly fall from his lips, or "Acceptable Musigny!" "This Chambertin is really very fair!" "The Chateau Yquem is not half bad!" etc., etc.
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