"A glass of champagne."
"I'm hungry. I had a bad dinner at my hotel. I must have something to eat."
He ordered the champagne for her. He ate first a patty, then another, then a châteaubriant and peas. He drank two glasses of claret, followed by a glass of champagne. The footman brought him everything, dish by dish, on a silver tray. His handsome, virile face was brick-red in colour with health and animal strength. The stiff hair on his round, heavy skull was cropped quite close. His large grey eyes were bright and laughing, with a straight, impudent glance. A heavy, well-tended moustache curled over his mouth, in which the white teeth gleamed. He stood with his legs slightly astraddle, firm and soldierly in his dress-coat, which he wore with an easy correctness. He ate slowly and with relish, enjoying his good glass of fine wine.
Mechanically she now watched him, from her chair. She had drunk a glass of champagne and asked for another; and the stimulant revived her. Her cheeks recovered some of their colour; her eyes sparkled.
"They do you damn well here," he said, coming up to her with his glass in his hand.
And he emptied his glass.
"They are going to dance the pavane almost at once," she murmured.
And they passed through the crowded rooms, to a big corridor outside, which looked like an avenue of camellia-shrubs. They were alone for a moment.
"This is where the dancers are to meet."
"Then let's wait for them. It's nice and cool out here."