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The Duke of Aylesbury made a noise in his throat, and then said very indistinctly: "They all go to London." "All go to London?" repeated Pommard, with a blank stare. "Why?" This time nobody answered, and Pommard had to attack again. "The spirit of aristocracy is essentially opposed to the greed of the industrial cities.
But you are quite right, and I am delighted to find you so discerning and sympathetic. The least I can do under the circumstances is to uncork a bottle of Pommard, and drink the health of so loyal and helpful a colleague. Ah! Praise the gods! here is Polton, like a sacrificial priest accompanied by a sweet savour of roasted flesh.
Homais was enjoying himself. Although he was even more intoxicated with the luxury than the rich fare, the Pommard wine all the same rather excited his faculties; and when the omelette au rhum* appeared, he began propounding immoral theories about women. What seduced him above all else was chic.
Talking still, he piloted Lennox to the dining-room where, the advantages of sedatives occurring to him, he ordered a bottle of Pommard, which is mother's milk. But when it was brought Lennox would not touch it. He wanted brandy and soda and told Johnson, a captain, to see to it. In the great high-ceiled room, other members were dining.
"Well, that's settled," he said with a laugh. "But it wasn't so easily managed. It was the Pommard which induced the beggar to make up his mind. All the same, I was dreadfully afraid he would make me miss my appointment." These remarks, which escaped him amid his semi-intoxication, led him to more confidential talk. He put on his hat again, lighted a fresh cigar, and took Mathieu's arm.
Anyhow, Polton, open a bottle of Pommard and put a couple of ten by eight 'process' plates in your dark slides. I am expecting two ladies here this evening with a document." "Shall you bring them upstairs, sir?" inquired Polton, with an alarmed expression. "I expect I shall have to," answered Thorndyke.
Neither did I make any better progress during the pheasant and the salad, and as she sipped but twice the Pommard and scarcely moistened her lips with the champagne my case seemed hopeless. Henri finally left us alone over our coffee and cigarettes. I had become desperate. "Alice," I said bluntly, "we are old friends. I have some things to say to you of of the utmost importance.
"Madame and I will breakfast here to-day, Emile," said the voice beneath the panama. "The little table in the corner and the same Pommard." He threw his riding crop on a vacant chair and, lifting his hat, handed it to the veteran waiter. It was the Baron Santos da Granja!
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