“Ve; what are those by you, Mr Peters?” inquired the lady in continuation.
“I really cannot exactly say; but they are fritters of some sort.”
“Let me see—hoh! bidet du poms. Madame, will you eat some bidet du poms?”
“Comment, madame, je ne vous comprends pas—”
“Ve.”
“Monsieur Tagliabue, expliquez donc;” said the foreign lady, red as a quarter of beef.
“Permettez,” said Monsieur, looking at the card. “Ah, c’est impossible, ma chère,” continued he, laughing. “Madame Turnbull se trompait; elle voudrait dire Beignets de pommes.”
“Vous trouvez notre langue fort difficile, n’est-ce pas?” continued madame, who recovered her good humour, and smiled graciously at Mrs T.
“Ve,” replied Mrs Turnbull, who perceived that she had made some mistake, and was anxiously awaiting the issue of the dialogue. It had, however, the effect of checking Mrs T, who said little more during the dinner and dessert.
At last the ladies rose from the dessert, and left the gentlemen at the table; but we were not permitted to remain long before coffee was announced, and we went up stairs. A variety of French liqueurs were handed about, and praised by most of the company. Mr Turnbull, however, ordered a glass of brandy as a settler.