"Certainly, sir, if you wish it." And then, turning to the lackey,--"John," said he, "bring a bottle of _Chateau-margaux_: you will find it in the third cellar on the left-hand side." But the rustic stared at his master with gaping mouth, as if he had been addressed in one of the dead languages.

Seeing the predicament, and mastering it rapidly,-- "Excuse me," said De Vlierbeck, rising; "he would not find it, I fear.

I will be back in a moment." Rushing into the kitchen, he seized the third and last bottle and descended to the cellar, where he stopped to draw breath and compose himself.
"_Chateau-margaux! hochheimer! champagne!"_ exclaimed poor De Vlierbeck, "and not another drop of wine in my house but what is in this last bottle of claret! What _shall_ I do?
what _can_ I do ?" continued he, as he held the cobwebbed bottle in one hand and stroked his chin with the other.

"But no matter: there's no time for reflection: the die is cast, and may God help me in my need!" He ascended the stair, entered the dining-room with the corkscrew in the last cork, and found that during his absence Lenora had ordered fresh glasses on the table.
"This wine," said De Vlierbeck, holding the bottle knowingly to the light, "is at least twenty years old, Monsieur Denecker, and I sincerely hope it will please your palate." So saying, he filled the glasses of uncle and nephew, and gazed anxiously in their faces for the verdict.
Denecker tasted the wine, drop by drop, like an epicure, and, shaking his head disappointedly,-- "There's a mistake, doubtless," said he; "for it's the identical wine we had before." De Vlierbeck feigned surprise admirably, tasted the wine in turn, and replied,-- "I _believe_ you are right, and that I _have_ made a mistake; yet, as the bottle is opened and not bad, suppose we drink it before I make another descent to the cellar' There's abundance of time." "I've no objection," answered the merchant, "provided you help us, so as to get through it the quicker." And so the column in the third and last bottle diminished more rapidly than its predecessors, till two or three glasses alone remained at the bottom to crown the festival.
Poor De Vlierbeck could no longer conceal his agitation.

He tried to keep his eyes off the fatal bottle; but a sort of fascination drew him back to it, and each time with increased anxiety.