As she concluded speaking, the door through which she had called was reopened and there entered a tall, raw-boned, glum, colored girl, whose shining ebony skin was darkened by the white apron that she wore. She bore a tray on which was a gilt-topped bottle and two narrow glasses.
"Put it there, Cassie," said Mrs. Légère, pointing to the table.
The girl obeyed and left the room. Max seized the bottle, ripped off the gilding and, wrapping his purple-bordered handkerchief about the neck, with one dexterous twist, drew out the resounding cork.
A living foam gushed from the neck as the self-appointed butler poured into the two glasses a pale gold fluid, which creamed angrily to their edges, and then subsided until first one addition and then another set them boiling again.
Mrs. Légère took a glass in each hand and pressed the foremost into the passive palm of the girl.
"Well," said she, in a phrase new to Mary, "here we are."
Mary hesitated, the glass to her lips. She could hear the liquid whispering to her, and particles seemed to jump from it and sting her eyes.
"What is it?" she asked.
"Vine," said Max.
"But what kind of wine?" she weakly delayed.