"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." This compliment was aimed at Lafleur. Monsieur de la Thomassinière beat his brow in despair, while the marquis repeated till he was hoarse: "Excellent! excellent! The old patriarchal custom--to drink everybody's health. Noah's children always touched one another's glasses." Madame Thomas tossed off the glass of madeira at a swallow; but when she had drunk it, she made a wry face and glared at the marquis, crying: "God! what vile stuff your madeira is! Bah! it tastes like a donkey's water right in your mouth, my children!" All the ladies cried out and hid their faces behind their napkins. The men laughed; and Madame Thomas, who saw nothing unnatural in what she had said and thought that they shared her amusement, caused her glass to be filled with another kind of wine; while her son sank back in his chair, muttering: "I am a ruined man!" The more Madame Thomas drank, the more loquacious she became. In vain did the marquis fill her plate, and Monsieur de la Thomassinière call to his servants: "Serve monsieur! Remove madame's plate!" the stout old lady's voice soared above those of all her fashionable neighbors, for people of fashion are not in the habit of speaking loud. The old gentleman with the pigeon's wings, whom Madame Thomas had called a clove, could not digest that insult; he scowled terribly, tried to turn his back on his neighbor, and muttered: "It's abominable to invite people like myself to compromise their dignity with such riff-raff! Gad! if they ever catch me here again! I am terribly distressed that I came." For all that, the old chevalier did not go away, but ate and drank for four, by way of compensation for the annoyance that he felt. Mère Thomas wanted some of everything, she called for all the dishes that she saw, and she would say to the marquis: "What's that, my fine little fellow?" "_Poulet à la Marengo_, madame." "My soul! how it's disguised! Never mind, just pass me a wing.--And what's that black stew over yonder?"