A suave _maitre d'hotel_ bent over us with suggestions for supper, and an attendant _sommelier_ waited by his side.

Monsieur Carvin waved them away.
"The gentlemen have probably supped," he remarked.

"A bottle of the Pommery, Gout Anglais, and some biscuits.

Is that right, Louis ?" We both hastened to express our approval.

Monsieur Carvin was called by some one at the other end of the room and hurried away.