"Why go in, since we are not able to do anything for her? Besides we are as well off here."
No one insisted. Madame observed the two green birds called inseparable. She remarked pleasantly upon this singular fidelity, and blamed men for not imitating these little creatures. Cimme looked at his wife and laughed, singing with a bantering air, "Tra-la-la, Tra-la-la," as if to say he could tell some things about her fidelity to him.
Columbel, taken with cramps in his stomach, struck the floor with his cane. The other cat entered, tail in the air. They did not sit down at table until one o'clock.
When he had tasted the wine, Columbel, whom some one had recommended to drink only choice Bordeaux, called the servant:
"Say, is there nothing better than this in the cellar?"
"Yes, sir; there is some of the wine that was served to you when you were here before."
"Oh, well, go and bring three bottles."
They tasted this wine, which seemed excellent. Not that it proved to be remarkable, but it had been fifteen years in the cellar. Cimme declared it was just the wine for sickness.
Columbel, seized with a desire of possessing some of it, asked of the maid: "How much is left of it, my girl?"
"Oh, nearly all, sir; Miss never drinks any of it. It is the heap at the bottom."