'It suits
me better than champagne.'
The famous and unsurpassable Burgundy was served with the
roast. Old Hans brought it tenderly in its wicker cradle, inserted
the corkscrew with mathematical precision, and drew the cork,
which he offered for his master's inspection. Eugen nodded, and
told him to put it down. Aribert watched with intense interest. He
could not for an instant believe that Hans was not the very soul of
fidelity, and yet, despite himself, Racksole's words had caused him
a certain uneasiness. At that moment Prince Eugen murmured
across the table:
'Aribert, I withdraw my promise. Observe that, I withdraw it.'
Aribert shook his head emphatically, without removing his gaze
from Hans. The white-haired servant perfunctorily dusted his
napkin round the neck of the bottle of Roman?e-Conti, and
poured out a glass. Aribert trembled from head to foot.
Eugen took up the glass and held it to the light.
'Don't drink it,' said Aribert very quietly. 'It is poisoned.'
'Poisoned!' exclaimed Prince Eugen.
'Poisoned, sire!' exclaimed old Hans, with an air of profound
amazement and concern, and he seized the glass. 'Impossible, sire.
I myself opened the bottle. No one else has touched it, and the
cork was perfect.'
'I tell you it is poisoned,' Aribert repeated.
'Your Highness will pardon an old man,' said Hans, 'but to say that
this wine is poison is to say that I am a murderer.
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