Yet in a very few moments he was standing once more before my table, examining with a complacent air the service of my luncheon.
"Monsieur will find the _petits carots_ excellent," he declared.

"My friend Henry, he tries to serve this dish, but it is not the same thing; no! Always the vegetables must be served in the country where they are grown.

Monsieur will drink something ?" "A pint of Moselle," I ordered.

"I dare not order whiskey and soda before you, Louis." He made a little grimace.
"It is as monsieur wishes," he declared, "but it is a drink without _finesse,_--a crude drink for a man of monsieur's tastes.

It shall be the Moselle No.