“A good drinker ought, at the first draught, to recognize the wine, at the second, the quality, and, at the third, the age.”
“Oh! I should like to know the age of this wine.”
“Give me a few drops more, and I will tell you.”
Chicot filled his glass. He drank it off, and then said, “1561.”
“Right,” cried Claude Boutromet, “it was 1561.”
“Brother Gorenflot,” cried Chicot, “they have beatified men at Rome who were worth less than you.”
“A little habit,” said Gorenflot, modestly.
“And talent; for I flatter myself I have the habit, and I could not do it. But what are you about?”
“Going to my assembly.”
“Without eating a piece of my carp?”