Ah, me! If an eclipse had come over the sun, the beauty of the day could not have been more spoilt, the loveliness of spring more ruined.
The stout servant-men, with the dexterity of conjurers, unpacked the great basket, spread a wide cloth, and, in a trice, a luncheon was spread out to which the Emperor himself might have sat down.
There was no resisting M. le Vicomte. We had to sit down with the rest, and make a pretence to eat.
But Eloise refused wine, as did I.
"Ma foi!" said La Perouse. "What airs! Good champagne, too. Come, taste."
"Mademoiselle prefers water," I put in; and then, unwisely: "She is not accustomed to wine."
La Perouse stared at me, champagne-glass in hand, and then broke out laughing. She was about to say something, but checked herself, and turned to the chicken on her plate.
But La Perouse, as the champagne worked in her wits, returned to the subject of Eloise's abstinence.
In that dull brain was moving a resentment which the vulgar mind had not the power to repress.
"What! not drink champagne?" said the fool for the twentieth time. "Ah, well! It was different in the days of Changarnier. How is he, by the way, the brave Changarnier?"