"They keep a certain small wine of the country here," he said, "which has a flavour all of its own; but you must drink it down at a draught."
The other, whether he was thirsty or not, dared not refuse. They therefore entered the inn and the King had a tumbler filled with the famous nectar and handed it to his equerry, taking good care not to drink any himself. It was, in point of fact, a piquette, or sour wine, with a taste "all of its own" and resembling nothing so much as vinegar; and the King's guest, when he had emptied his glass, could not help pulling a frightful face. He dared not, however, be so disrespectful as to complain; and when the King, who had enjoyed the scene enormously, asked, in a very serious voice:
"Delicious, isn't it?"
"Oh, delicious!" the equerry replied, with an air of conviction.
You must not, however, think that the King's practical jokes were always cruel. Most often, they bore witness, under a superficial appearance of mischief, to his discriminating kindness of heart.
I remember, in this connexion, once going to meet him at the frontier-station of Culoz, through which he was passing on his way from Geneva to Aix. The members of his suite and I had left him alone, for a few moments, while we went to buy some books and newspapers which he had asked for. As he was walking up and down the platform, he saw a good woman at the door of a third-class railway-carriage, a plump, red-faced sort of peasant-woman, who was making vain efforts to open the door and fuming with anger and impatience. Suddenly catching sight of the King, who stood looking at her:
"Hi, there, Mr. Porter!" she cried. "Come and help me, can't you?"
The King ran up, opened the carriage-door and received the fat person in his arms. Next, she said:
"Fetch me out my basket of vegetables and my bundle."
The King obediently executed her commands. At that moment we appeared upon the platform, and to our amazement saw King George carrying the basket under one arm and the bundle under the other. He made a sign to me not to move. He carried the luggage to the waiting-room, took a ticket for the fair traveller, who was changing her train, and refused to accept payment for it, in spite of her insistence. What a pleasant recollection she must have of the porters at Culoz Station!