of the room into which wewent, following our host. There were many candles in sconces, tablesand chairs of Louis XV.'s time, and one cabinet of wonderful inlaid workfilled with silver.
Two persons rose as we entered. To my surprise, I saw that they alsowere dressed in black of the same fashion as that worn by my host. Allhad cues, and, like M. Des Illes, wore swords with black sheaths. One ofthese gentlemen might have been forty years old, but the other, like myhost, was a man far on in life and certainly not much under seventyyears. As I stood a moment in the doorway, the two, who were playingpiquet, rose, and M. Des Illes, going in before us, turned and said aswe entered:
"I have great pleasure to present to you M. Michel, my preserver, ofwhom I have already told. It is he who has with heroism dragged me frombefore a swift-coming horse. He with modesty refused me his address.His name I shall forever cherish. Permit me, Duke, to present M.Michel."
I named my friend, who was introduced. Then we were let to know thatthe older man, who was stout and well built, and who seemed of M. DesIlles's years, was the Duke de St. Maur. He in turn presented to us theyoungest of these quaintly clad people, his son, M. de St. Maur. Whenthese gentlemen bowed, for neither did more, they took up much of theroom, and in the space left to us--such courtesy beingcontagious--Pierce and I achieved quite as remarkable salutes.
This ceremony over, we were seated, and the tale of M. Des Illes'srescue having been told once more at too great length, the Duke rose,and, taking my hand, desired me to understand that I had conferred uponhim a favor which I must have known M. Des Illes as long as he tounderstand. When his son had stated that none could better what hisfather had said, he added, "May it please God, Monsieur, that you neverneed a friend; and may his providence never leave you without one asgood as you yourself have proved to be." I replied in fluent butunequal French, and began to have the keenest desire to know what themischief all this masquerade might mean.
I soon observed that the politics of the day were out of the talk.When, indeed, we were speaking of pictures, and Pierce mentioned aportrait of the Prince President in the Salon, a manner of chill seemedto fall upon the party, while the Duke said with a certain gentledecisiveness, "You, who are our guests this evening, and will share itwith us--may I say for my friend and myself that the person mentionedshould never get so far into good society as to be talked of bygentlemen--at least not to-night--not to-night?"
"No," said St. Maur; "not to-night."
Pierce spoke quickly, "You will pardon us, Duke."
The Duke lifted a remonstrating hand. "It is not needed," he said."And have you seen the great landscape by Diaz? I have the pendant; butnow his prices have gone up, and we poor gentlefolk, alas!" Here hetook snuff, and M. de St. Maur remarked with a smile, "My good father isnever so near extravagance as when he talks of his poverty."
"He is shrewd, the young man, and of distressing economy--a quite moderneconomy. I bought it to-day." Our laughter set the chat on a lessformal footing, and we fell to talking of theaters, actresses, thelatest play, and the like, until at last M. Des Illes said. "Pardon, mydear Duke, but the hour is near when we must go down to the cellar."
Meanwhile no one had explained the costumes which appeared to have powerto recall into active life the forms of manners with which they seemedto consist so well, the grave courtesies of an hour more patient thanthat in which we live. "We are at your service," said the Duke, rising."Our friends must feel by this time as if they were calling on actorsbehind the scenes at the Odeon. Is it not so?" he added.
"Perhaps," I returned. "But the wise who are well entertained do notask the name of the inn; at least so they say in Spain."
"Monsieur has found for us a delightful apology," said M. de St. Maur."Let us leave him to guess our sad riddle; and now, the lanterns."
As he spoke, M. Des Illes came from a closet with lanterns and strawwine-baskets, of which he gave one to each of us. Then the candles inthe lanterns were lighted, while Pierce and I, profoundly curious, saidnothing.
"A pity," exclaimed the younger St. Maur, "that our friends' moderndress should interpolate a note of to-day."
"We can only regret," said I.
"It is but a wicked little remark, that," returned the Duke. "My son isof to-day, Monsieur. For him this is a masquerade, interesting, droll.But for us, _mon Dieu_! It is----."
"Yes, it is," returned Des Illes gravely.
"Pardon, Duke," said the son, smiling. "Once all these things lived foryou and for our friend; but as to me--I have only the memory ofanother's memory."
"Neatly put!" cried Des Illes. "Almost a _mot_; as near as men get toit in these degenerate days. Well, well, if wit be dead, wine is not.Let us go now among the old memories of which your son speaks. Come,gentlemen."
With these words we went with him through a back room, and thence by awindow into a garden. In the uncertain moonlight I saw that it waslarge, with great walls about it, and the appearance beyond these oftall, leafless trees. We passed a frozen basin and the figure of adryad, and went after our host into a house for plants, now toappearance disused. At a far corner he lifted a trap-door and wentbefore us down a stone stair to a wine-cellar such as is common in goodFrench houses. Here were bottles and barrels of _vin ordinaire_ forcommon use. I began to feel an increase of interest when, near the farend of this cellar, M. Des Illes set down his lantern, unlocked apadlock, and, aided by St. Maur, lifted a larger trap-door. With a wordof care as to the steps, he showed us the way down a broad stonestairway, and in a minute we were all standing on the rock floor of agreat room underground.
As we saw the Duke and his companions hang their lanterns on hooks setin the wall, we did as they had done, and, placing our wine-baskets oncasks, began to get used to the cross lights of the lanterns and to lookaround us. The space seemed to be some thirty feet long and perhaps asmuch as fifteen feet wide. It was cut out of the soft lime-rock whichunderlies Paris. Perhaps a dozen casks of wine, on racks, were setalong one side of the cave, and over them, on stone shelves excavated inthe walls, were hundreds of bottles.
"Be careful of the cobwebs," said Des Illes, and there was need to be.They hung from above in black curtains and in coarse openwork of tangledropes. They lay over the bottles and across the casks, wonderful foramount and for their dark hue. The spinners of this funereal broidery Icould nowhere see. It was the work of generations of arachnideanartists long dead; or else those who lived were hiding, scared, amidstthese great pendent festoons. I wondered how the net-makers had lived,for flies there were none, and no other insect life so far as I couldsee. After this brief survey I observed that the air was cool, and sodry that it was hardly felt to be uncomfortable. The three gentlemenwere moving to and fro, exchanging phrases apparently about the wine,and as I joined their little group it became clear that a selection wasbeing made.
"There will be one bottle of the year," said the Duke.
"Yes, of the year," repeated our host.
"Might I ask of what year?" said Pierce.
"Of 1793," replied St. Maur; "the fatal year. Permit me"; and he heldthe basket wine-cradle while the Duke put on his glasses, and, turningthe lantern-light on to a shelf, said: "There are but twelve left."
"Enough for us, friend," said Des Illes, lifting a bottle. "It has theblack ribbon on the neck, but the spiders have so covered everything aswith a pall, that it was hard to be sure." With this, he turned to me."It has a black ribbon, you perceive."
"It has," I said, rather puzzled.
"And now, my friends, choose as you will, you cannot go far wrong. Thesun of many summers is locked up in these bottles."
"I wall take Chambertin," said the Duke.
"And I, Pomard," said his son.
"And I," said Des Illes, "Romanee Conti. But all here are in thepeerage of wines."
Then, when each of this curious company had made his choice, our hostsaid to us:
"It will be best that I choose for you. There is already enough ofBurgundy to tr
ouble some toes to-morrow. Shall we say Bordeaux? Hereare two of long descent, and one is a comet-wine--of a name longlost--and one is Laffitte, and both are in good order; neither is lessthan thirty years old. In this changeless atmosphere our great winesare long-lived. Have a care not to disturb the wines as we go up thestairs."
"We shall carry them with care," I replied, laughing, "until we haveswallowed them."
"And then without care, I trust," cried the younger St. Maur. "Let usgo; it is chilly here."
"A moment," said the Duke. "M. Michel will desire to know why all thiscostuming, and the bottles in mourning, and this ancient
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