“Come,” I said, as I seized both by the arm, and stopped them, “we’ll contrive quite a charming supper together. In wine you shall have free choice. You, Van Delpt, like something heavy—Port wine, or genuine Madeira. It shall not be wanting, and we will drink to the health of your Margery von Minderhout, in Amsterdam. You, M. Fleury, shall have Champagne from Sillery, and vive Demoiselle Manon Larochière, rue Montmartre. I stand by the true German. O, ye honored grapes of Rudesheim, with what shall I compare you, if not with little Kate of Castle street, Barbarossa town; your sweet flower, with the flower of her beauty—your animating fire, with the fire that gleams in her eyes. Come, friends, let us bring down the high ideal to actual life. The trio of our loves shall sound in Madeira, Champagne, and Rudesheim; and inspired fancy shall present to our raptured gaze the gracious forms of our beloved ones.”
I had, I thought, outshone myself in the poetry of this invitation. I wished to touch and win them—but my friends seemed neither touched by my resemblance of their loved ones, nor won by the picture of the costly wines that awaited them at my lodgings. They looked thoughtfully at each other, shook their heads, and withstood all my attempts to lead them back to the city. Then Van Delpt shook himself loose from me, and taking me by the shoulders, turned me round as the wind would a weathercock, and said, pointing to a little wooden house, upon the top of which floated a red silk flag—
“Do you see that booth, and do you know what you can obtain there for a mere nothing?”
“Then I will take the cover off the dish for you,” continued the cook; “you shall learn how we can enjoy Mahomet’s seventh heaven here on earth. Yes, Mynheer, there, in that unpretending booth the bliss of earth and heaven can be enjoyed for a few paras.”
I was perplexed. Van Delpt was usually a quiet matter-of-fact person. He did not seem to have taken more than his usual allowance of Genivee, the old Dutch phlegm had not vanished in the least from his features, only there was to be seen there an inspired expression, not before observable, which beamed forth very brilliantly as he looked at the little red house.