{"product_id":"2940013769038","title":"The Cafe of Terror","description":"The Marquis always talked very bad English when he was angry, and this\u003cbr\u003emorning he was very angry indeed. Climbing up narrow and precipitous\u003cbr\u003epaths upon a surface of loose stones, pushing his way occasionally\u003cbr\u003ethrough brambles and undergrowth, and looking downwards from heights,\u003cbr\u003ewhich always made him giddy, had been undertakings which had combined to\u003cbr\u003eincense him. He was not dressed or built for such mad escapades. The\u003cbr\u003esight of Madelon, bare-headed, and laughing, having the air of one to\u003cbr\u003ewhom such excursions, instead of being a torture, were a keen pleasure,\u003cbr\u003eonly irritated him, whereas the final note of exasperation he discovered\u003cbr\u003ein the pleasant good temper of Mr. Samuel T. Billingham, their guide and\u003cbr\u003ehost, who, with a huge cigar in his mouth, was walking with springy\u003cbr\u003esteps and unabated cheerfulness up the path which the Marquis had\u003cbr\u003epassionately declared to be only fit for goats and idiots.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"I can no further make this absurd promenade,\" the Marquis announced,\u003cbr\u003esinking on to a heap of stones and dabbing with a scented\u003cbr\u003epocket-handkerchief drops of moisture upon his forehead, which must not\u003cbr\u003ebe allowed to reach his eyebrows. \"It is an absurdity! I have a pain of\u003cbr\u003ethe stomach, a pain of the knees, a pain of the back. It is not for this\u003cbr\u003eI came. Where is the automobile?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Poor uncle!\" Madelon sympathised. \"I had forgotten that you were not\u003cbr\u003eused to walking. You should have lived in England as I have done. But\u003cbr\u003ethe view--you must admit that the view is marvellous!\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe comments of the Marquis upon the view were delivered in fluent and\u003cbr\u003esacrilegious French. He displayed an acquaintance with the various forms\u003cbr\u003eof blasphemy peculiar to his language which moved even Mr. Billingham to\u003cbr\u003ewondering admiration.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"When I feel better,\" he concluded, after a moment's electric pause, \"I\u003cbr\u003eshall apologise. At present I will only say that the view from the\u003cbr\u003ewindow of my salon, which takes in the Casino and all that glorious\u003cbr\u003esea, is better worth having.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Less than a kilometre to go,\" Mr. Billingham declared. \"I reckon we\u003cbr\u003eshall strike the main road just beyond that clump of firs, and that's\u003cbr\u003ewhere I told the car to pick us up. Another quarter of an hour, Marquis,\u003cbr\u003eand we shall be in St. Félix.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"If one could only drink something!\" the latter observed pettishly, as\u003cbr\u003ehe rose to his feet. \"I miss my morning aperitif.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"That's coming to you, sure,\" Mr. Billingham promised. \"I've done this\u003cbr\u003etramp before, and unless I'm mistaken there's a little café where this\u003cbr\u003epath joins the cart track.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe prospect was sufficiently encouraging to induce the Marquis to\u003cbr\u003estruggle to his feet. They clambered another fifty yards or so up the\u003cbr\u003estony path and found themselves in a rough track which had evidently\u003cbr\u003ebeen made by the carting of timber from the other side of the ravine. A\u003cbr\u003elittle way along there was a small white-plastered building, to which\u003cbr\u003eMr. Billingham pointed.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"The Café du Forêt!\" he exclaimed. \"The worst ever, so far as I\u003cbr\u003eremember, but a Dubonnet won't poison us.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe Marquis almost smiled.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"A Dubonnet will be acceptable,\" he admitted. \"The place appears\u003cbr\u003epoverty-stricken, but if one can secure an unopened bottle----\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"We'll find that,\" Mr. Billingham interrupted confidently.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA few minutes' further climb brought them to the café. It was small,\u003cbr\u003edilapidated and uninviting. Nevertheless it proclaimed itself in rudely\u003cbr\u003epainted black letters to be a restaurant where \"Vins et Consommations\"\u003cbr\u003ewere to be obtained. There were three iron tables outside with a couple\u003cbr\u003eof chairs at each, but no sign of life. The door stood open and his two\u003cbr\u003ecompanions followed Mr. Billingham inside. There was no one behind the\u003cbr\u003elittle counter, no one in the rude little compartment with its sanded\u003cbr\u003efloor and benches in place of chairs. There were bottles upon the\u003cbr\u003eshelves, however, and a tumbler half full of brandy upon the counter.\u003cbr\u003eMr. Billingham raised his voice and the glasses around shook.","brand":"WDS Publishing","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":47070248861936,"sku":"2940013769038","price":2.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0737\/7593\/9824\/files\/2940013769038_p0.jpg?v=1763590011","url":"https:\/\/shop-qa.barnesandnoble.com\/products\/2940013769038","provider":"Barnes \u0026 Noble (DEV)","version":"1.0","type":"link"}