“My Colonel, you know that in a Great Hotel, wine must cost money. You cannot get Pinard at the Ritz. But I suggest that we get several fiascos of the good. You can say they come from the Contessa Renata’s estates and are a gift. Then I will have them decanted for you. This way, we will have better wine and make an impressive saving. I will explain it to the manager if you like. He is a very good man.”
“Explain it to him,” the Colonel said. “He’s not a man who drinks labels either.”
“Agreed.”
“In the meantime you might as well drink this. It is, very good, you know.”
“It is,” the Colonel said. “But it isn’t Chambertin.”
“What did we use to drink?”
“Anything,” the Colonel said. “But now I seek perfection. Or, rather, not absolute perfection, but perfection for my money.”
“I seek it, too,” the Gran Maestro said. “But rather vainly.”
“What do you want for the end of the meal?”
“Cheese,” the Colonel said. “What do you want, Daughter?”
The girl had been quiet and a little withdrawn, since she had seen Alvarito. Something was going on in her mind, and it was an excellent mind. But, momentarily, she was not with them.
“Cheese,” she said. “Please.”
“What cheese?”
