“Down! down, I say! there’s dogs under the table, boy. Here’s two or three on ‘em running atween my legs. Tell someone to give ‘em something to eat, so they’ll leave us alone. Give me a drink! Who’s going to fill my glass? you, old boy?”
It was the marquis to whom this question was addressed; he took a decanter of madeira that stood before him and filled the glass of his neighbor, who always refused to drink without touching glasses.
“What’s this yellow wine, my boy?”
“Madeira, madame.”
“Pretty good, eh?”
“Perfect! it’s the best I ever drank.”
“Here’s your health then, my buck; and yours, old fox!”
The last remark was addressed to Madame Thomas’s left hand neighbor, an old chevalier, with his hair curled and powdered in the style in vogue during the Regency, who seemed extremely ill-pleased to be seated beside Monsieur de la Thomassinière’s mother. He turned his head whenever she looked at him, and did not answer when she spoke to him. This time Madame Thomas held her glass over the old fellow’s plate, so that it was impossible for him to avoid replying, and he muttered disdainfully:
“I don’t drink, madame.”
“Ah! you don’t drink, don’t you, old bean-pole? Well then, you can go without, that’s all. You needn’t put on so many airs; you look as pleasant as a bad clove!—Your health, my son, and yours, messieurs, mesdames, and the whole company; and yours, too, you green monkey, as didn’t want to let me in.”