“Very nice, monsieur.”
This reply was accompanied by a wanton glance at Monsieur Bisbis, who scratched his nose longer than usual, while Monin approached him with his snuff-box, saying:
“Do you take it too?”
The games were interrupted by the punch, which Domingo passed around among the guests. He passed the salver to the ladies, who made a great to-do about taking a glass of punch, which they declared was too strong, although some of them partook a second time. The men crowded about Domingo and seized the punch on the wing. Monin ran after the platter, which had passed him several times; but he had not been able to capture a glass. At last, after following Domingo throughout his winding course among the guests, Monin succeeded in stopping him as he was returning to the dining-room.
“One minute, negro!” he said, putting out his hand toward the salver. Domingo halted, muttering:
“You want drink again?”
“What’s that? again!” cried Monin; “my word! he’s a good one, he is! I haven’t had a taste, and I’m very fond of punch.”
As he spoke Monin glanced at the salver: all the glasses were empty. The poor man was thunderstruck.
“Me come again right away.—More punch, all hot,” said Domingo, as he left the room; and Monin, for consolation, drew his snuff-box, and returned to the games, saying to himself:
“I must try to catch him sooner than I did this time.”