Читать книгу The Iron Mistress - Paul Iselin Wellman - Страница 9

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The maître d’hôtel began to expatiate with a poet’s fervor on the excellences of the menu. Did the messieurs desire a potage? His potages were gastronomic triumphs. He could place before them, if they desired, oysters, terrapin, reedbirds, quail, ortolan, and other delicacies of the first style of culinary perfection. As they hesitated, he observed that the ragout of venison was a dream of gustatory bliss, and the brandies especially imported. Furthermore, there was la petite goyave——

“La petite goyave?” Bowie repeated.

Was Monsieur not familiar with it? The maître d’hôtel became ecstatic. Monsieur was in for a great, a notable experience. La petite goyave was the specialty of the house, most famous and most praised by many messieurs of discrimination the world over. He kissed his fingers in rapture. This sublimity, he said, was a drink brewed from the fermented juices of the guava fruit of the West Indies, very bland and delightful, once tasted never forgotten.

“Bring la petite goyave, then,” said Bowie, “and with it the ragout of venison—at once. My friends are hungry.”

Fat face dark with joyful perspiration, the maître d’hôtel hurried away and returned surrounded by a cloud of scurrying subordinates, who placed the dinner, smoking and savory, before them. With his own hands he brought a pitcher of amber liquid and glasses: poured, waited with an artist’s anticipation as Bowie tasted, and departed happily as the face of the guest showed that the drink was all it was advertised.

“Thee be drinking,” observed Audubon, “the favorite tipple of the old buccaneering crew—the Lafittes, Dominique You, René Baluche, and the rest.”

“The pirates? I’ve heard of them. Where are they now?”

“All gone but old Dominique. He’s around town, usually drunk.”

Audubon began wolfing his food like one starved. Nez Coupé also plunged heartily into the fare. But Bowie continued to sip la petite goyave, feeling a pleasurable glow.

In the alcove the young Creoles conversed noisily, with frequent laughter. Bowie became interested in a pair of legs which stretched forth from the end of the nearer settle, differing from the other legs in that they did not sport the prevailing Hessian boots. Instead they were encased in long, fawn-colored pantaloons, very tight at calf and thigh, with straps under the insteps of the small and shapely varnished shoes. He could not see the owner of the legs because of a wing of the settle, but part of an arm and a hand were visible. The latter, slender-boned as a girl’s and every bit as white, held a glass of la petite goyave, which it raised often to the hidden lips in a manner somewhat erratic, indicating a fairly advanced stage of tipsiness. Bowie decided that he did not care for the fawn-colored legs, or their owner.