"Thank you," said Connor, and a thrill went through him as he met the eye of David. "That wish is my wish also—and long life to you, David."
There was a glint of pleasure in the face of David, and they drank together.
"By Heaven," cried Connor, putting down the cup, "it is Médoc! It is Château Lafite, upon my life!"
He tasted it again.
"And the vintage of '96! Is that true?"
David shook his head.
"I have never heard of Médoc or Château Lafite."
"At least," said Connor, raising his cup and breathing the delicate bouquet, "this wine is Bordeaux you imported from France? The grapes which made this never grew outside of the Gironde!"
But David smiled.
"In the north of the Garden," he said, "there are some low rolling hills, Benjamin; and there the grapes grow from which we make this wine."