Bordeaux

“Why, my dear boy, when a man has been proscribed by the mountaineers, has escaped from Paris in a hay-cart, been hunted over the plains of Bordeaux by Robespierre’s bloodhounds, he becomes accustomed to most things.

“No, she is a Bordeaux vessel, La Gironde; she comes from India also; but she is not mine.”

“Well, Don Carlos will drink Bordeaux, and in ten years we will marry his son to the little queen.”

Show me into one of those pretty little rooms which overlook the court, and bring me a cold fowl and a bottle of Bordeaux.”