The Burgomaster
You look dreadfully tired and must be starving! Pierre, my dear fellow, why on earth didn’t you...? (He rings.) I’ll tell him myself. (Enter the Footman.) Firmin, bring up some cold meat; bring anything you’ve got downstairs: bread, butter, eggs, cheese. What cold meat is there?
The Footman
Veal and chicken, sir; ham, tongue.
The Burgomaster
All right, bring them all. And as to drink.... (To Jean Gilson.) What wine do you like? I’ve a splendid Rudesheimer and an ’82 white port which you won’t quarrel with. Which would you like? (To the Footman.) Look here, bring both, that’s simpler. (To Jean Gilson.) You can manage a couple of bottles, I dare say. If necessary we’ll lend you a hand, eh, Mr. Secretary? It will be so much less left for the Germans. There’s fruit enough, as you see. These pears, these plums and peaches are of my own growing; look at the grapes I have just picked; did you ever see anything like them? They’re my special achievement: a variety I got by slowly and patiently crossing the Black Alicante, which is magnificent to look at but hasn’t much flavour, with a Sicilian muscat that’s very small but delicious. I’ve secured what’s best in both of them and kept out what’s bad. Just taste them: aren’t they wonderful? They’re hard and yet they’re juicy; they just melt as you crush them with your teeth. Each one is like a drop of wine with a touch of snow in it. I shall be putting over four thousand pounds of these grapes on the market every week in five years or so. You’ve been the first to have a taste of them.... So they’re at Winkel, are they?
Jean Gilson
Yes, Mr. Burgomaster; and they’ll be here this morning. I’m just a bit ahead of them.
The Secretary
Jean tells me that they’re led by Mr. Otto, your son-in-law.