In the vine country by E. Oe. (Edith Oenone) Somerville

Author:E. Oe. (Edith Oenone) Somerville [Somerville, E. Oe.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780526095162
Google: Rca4xAEACAAJ
Publisher: Creative Media Partners, LLC
Published: 2019-02-27T03:25:36+00:00

[Image unavailable.] M. BLOSSIER, WITH HIS CIGARETTE, APPEARED AT THE DOORWAY.

repulse the linked battalions of fleas and mosquitoes the night before.

Very soon, however, we could think of nothing but the extraordinary heat of the wind that was blowing clouds of red dust over us, setting the white sun-bonnets of the vendangeuses flapping, as we drove past them at the best speed to which we could incite M. Blossier, and after an hour of combat with it, we arrived at the hotel with our eyes full of sand, and our hair standing aureole-wise round our faces.

Madame herself came forth to meet us, with a note in her fat hand, and a manner in which some slight admixture of interest, almost of respect, was discernible. We read the note. It was even worse than we had expected; it was a request couched in admirable English that we would be ready to meet the writer at eleven, and he would then give himself the pleasure of conducting us round the vineyards of the neighbourhood, and would finally have the honour of escorting us to his own château, where, he hoped, we would dine. The large commercial face of the hall clock showed that we had just one quarter of an hour before this flight into French society in which to eliminate the traces of an experience that would probably have horrified our host beyond recovery, to cast out the accent that we had acquired with such fatal facility from Suzanne and M. Blossier, and to scour through the all-sufficing pages of Bellows’ Dictionary for phrases that should lubricate our efforts at high-class conversation.

It was not pleasant, either in prospect or accomplishment, but we did it. We were even sitting in the salon as ladies should, putting on tight gloves, when a landau and pair drove to the door, and we were told by the sympathetically excited Louis that a gentleman wished to see us. In another five minutes we were bowling through Pauillac, with parasols up, conversing in free, untrammelled English with the excessively kind and unselfish person who had given a large slice of valuable time to the toil of taking two ignoramuses to see the innermost secrets and perfections of wine-making. Our host told us, in his well-chosen English, that had here and there the pressure and the staccato that an Anglo-Saxon tongue may weary itself in striving to imitate, that we were to partake of déjeuner at a rival Pauillac hotel before going any farther. We did partake.

From oysters, served with hot sausages, to black coffee and fruit, we went hand in hand with the menu, and when we rose to go we felt serene and equal to the occasion.

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