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Aunt Morin had a very comfortably invested fortune left, for the late Monsieur Morin, corn, hay and seed merchant, had been a very astute person. It would make little difference to the comfort of Aunt Morin, or to the prospects of Cousin Gaspard in Madagascar, whether the present business of Veuve Morin et Fils went on or not. Of this Aunt Morin, in lighter moods, had boasted many times.
His pint of champagne was dry and bitter stuff, not like the Veuve Clicquots of old days. Over his cup of coffee, he bethought him that he would go to the opera. In the Times, therefore he had a distrust of other papers he read the announcement for the evening. It was 'Fidelio. Mercifully not one of those new-fangled German pantomimes by that fellow Wagner.
You like that Old Veuve? 'Too well to tell bad news of her, said Mr. Fenellan in a manner to reassure his friend, as he intended. 'You wouldn't credit it for the Spring of the year, without the spotless waistcoat? 'Something of that, I suppose. And so saying, Mr.
Jenny and Carigny gave us a quarter-of-an-hour before dinner a capital idea! "VEUVE ET BACHELIER." As if by inspiration. No preparation for it, no formal taking of seats. It seized amazingly floated small talk over the soup beautifully. I questioned him again. 'Oh, dear, yes; there can't be a doubt about it, he answered, airily. 'Roy Richmond has won his game.
As my Shakespearian preincarnation scorned dishonourable designs, so do even I. The marriage of Veuve Elodie Marescaux and Horatio Bakkus will take place at the earliest opportunity allowed by French law. If that delays too long, we shall fly to England where an Archbishop's special licence will induce a family Archdeacon to marry us straight away.
"I agree with you entirely," Major Forrest declared. "If our friend has disappointed us at all, it is in the absence of that primitiveness which he led us to expect. One perceives that one is drinking Veuve Clicquot of a vintage year, and one suspects the nationality of our host's cook." "You can have all the primitivism you want if you look out of the windows," Cecil remarked drily.
At least you can't make it French, however you twist it" "I'm not anxious to twist it. Don't you see, Arthur, she is evidently a Frenchwoman who married a man called Peter Ross; she is the veuve, widow, you know! of the lamented Scotchman. Now do you understand? But it is peculiar." "Very," said Clarges. "When do we start?"
Her first one was a comic monologue which always had the wildest success in London, "Je suis veuve," beginning it with a ringing peal of laughter which was curiously contagious everyone in the room joined in. I like her better in some of her serious things. When she said "le bon gite" and "le petit clairon," by Paul Déroulède, in her beautiful deep voice, I had a decided choke in my throat.
One hopes that her punishment finished with her acquittal, and that the mood of the mob, as apt as a flying straw to veer for a zephyr as for a whirlwind, swung to her favour from mere revulsion on her escape from the scaffold. The one thing is as likely as the other. So may it have been with the Veuve Boursier.
I saw some the other day, and spoke about it. That gave me the idea of the dinner really, and I put it to the old horse that that brandy was worthy of a dinner to introduce it. He tumbled at once. Veuve Cliquot as the main wine. What about it?" Peter balanced himself on the back of his chair and blew out cigarette-smoke. "What time are you ordering the ambulances?" he demanded.
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