The young girl was drying her hands on a towel, as she stood by the farmers. The men stared at Orville, eyes and gestures showing their antagonism. The big fire in the fireplace interested Orville more than the farmers: its bigness was a welcome; the heat too was welcome. He was eyeing the fire when the girl asked him if he wanted some wine.
"Some wine ... something to eat?"
"What are you serving? Do you have Chablis ... I want something to eat ... wine with my meal."
She thought him well dressed: what's he doing here? Where's he from? No jeep or car.
"We've mutton stew," she muttered.
"What else?"
"Roast beef."
"So ... soup de jour, beef, potatoes, a vegetable."
"Chablis?"
"Yes."