"There's never a maid but has her store of gossip, and gossip is information." "Pshaw!" said Fitzgerald, helping himself to cold ham and chicken.
"Wine, Messieurs ?" asked the maid.
"Ah, then Madame offers the cellars ?" said Maurice.
"Yes, Messieurs.

There is chambertin, champagne, chablis, tokayer and sherry." "Bring us some chambertin, then." "Oui, Messieurs." "Hurry along, my Hebe," said Maurice.
The maid was not on familiar terms with the classics, but she told the butler in the pantry that the smooth-faced one made a charming Captain.
"Keep your eyes open," grumbled the butler; "he'll be kissing you next." "He might do worse," was the retort.

Even maids have their mirrors, and hers told a pretty story.

When she returned with the wine she asked: "And shall I pour it, Messieurs ?" "No one else shall," declared Maurice.

"When is the duchess to arrive ?" "I do not know, Monsieur," stepping in between the chairs and filling the glasses with the ruby liquid.
"Who is Madame Sylvia Amerbach ?" "Madame Sylvia Amerbach," placing the bottle on the table and going to the sideboard.