After David's meeting with Louis and following farewells, a driver took the two couples north toward Dijon. As they left the courtyard of Domaine Ducroix, Maria asked, "Grandpa, why did you reserve so much of their wine? With Bethia's, you'll have plenty of similar quality closer at hand."

Michael chuckled. "Indeed, we will have, but Mary and I love to compare how various wines evolve with age. Laying in three dozen of each of their last year's Grands Crus will allow us the opportunity to follow the emerging nuances of Bethia's wine side-by-side with the finest Burgundies. In effect, hers challenging the benchmarks."

"This is a game for you, isn't it?"

"Aye, and it's a rare one, available only to those comfortably disposed."

Maria tilted her head. "Comfortably disposed?"

"He means wealthy." Mary chuckled. "He shies away from using that word, but that doesn't stop him from enjoying its benefits."

Michael shrugged. "True, and being able to analyse great wine is among those benefits. Some drink only to quench their thirst and others drink to drown their despair in alcohol's oblivion. Ordinary wines are sufficient for both of those, but only fine wines can excite the senses, kindle the mind and coddle the soul."

"You're waxing poetic again, Michael." Mary laughed and patted his arm. "But it does boil down to this, doesn't it?"

The four carried on their discussion of wine all the way to their hotel in Dijon, where they retrieved their luggage from the bell captain, had it loaded into the car's boot and continued to the station, arriving well in advance of their scheduled departure.

When the train arrived, they were among the first to board, and as they settled in their empty compartment, Michael asked, "So, your meeting with Louis?"

"I gained some useful information on pre-war wine exports. He had been to a marketing conference in Lyon two years ago, and he referred to the documents he had retained from that to ensure his figures were accurate. Nearly half of the German Empire's wine imports had been from France, followed by Spain and Italy. But only a quarter of the French was in bottle, the bulk of it being lesser reds in barrel."

Michael stroked his chin. "So what quantities?"

"About seventy-five thousand hectolitres from France in 1913. Their imports from here had grown steadily since the turn of the century, more than tripling from under twenty-five thousand hectolitres. The aim of the conference had been to find ways to continue the growth and to move the Germans up to wines of higher quality."

"Hmmm. Seventy-five thousand is more than I had thought."

David shook his head. "Not really that much when you consider sixty-six million people and less than twenty-thousand hectolitres of better-quality wines. One bottle for every forty or fifty people, so very few would be familiar with it."

"Ah, but think of all the noble families, the wealthy industrialists, the prosperous merchants and the finer restaurants. Many might have cellars with significant French content. Two million litres is over two-and-a-half million bottles. Two hundred and fifty bottles of French wine per year would augment ten thousand cellars, keeping them more than amply stocked."

"True." Simple statistics and an inexperienced viewpoint don't work at all well with this, do they?" David winced. "Let's hope the prince is familiar with none of these cellars."

"But to your favour, David; except for some of the more dedicated restaurateurs, few of these cellar owners would have any depth of wine knowledge or experience – particularly with French wine."

"True again. And this is why I must continue absorbing information."

"And again, to your favour, other than some obscure journals and travelogues, there is nothing written about wine, its culture and its enjoyment. Those must be acquired through experience and discussion. The prince will have no source but you."

"But there will be those around him with knowledge – or with an awareness of others who might have a deep interest in wine."

"True." Michael chuckled. "But you have a captivating manner, David, and I wager now that he knows you and perceives your depth of knowledge, he'll look no further. He'll use you as a pleasant distraction from commanding a group of armies."

"Hah! Depth of knowledge. I've barely scratched the surface."

"That's far further than most – from my observations, you're already well into the ninety-ninth percentile. Besides, with your broad awareness, quick grasp and easy synthesis, combined with a rare confidence, you come across as an expert. And you don't abuse this. You always seek to learn from others – to listen to their views and to their advice."

"You're good for my ego."

"You need to be reminded of your abilities." Michael chuckled. "But we now must get back to your studies. Let's wrap up the Burgundy and begin looking at the wines of the northern Rhône. This evening, we'll compare and contrast the two at dinner."

In the early evening, their train arrived at Gare de Lyon in Paris. Then, riding in a taxi through nearly deserted streets, David said, "I remember this as a very busy area, crowded with people. Where are they all?"

"This is the unfashionable hour." Mary shrugged. "The shops are closed, and the restaurants are not yet open. Many of the French are creatures of habit, run by the clock. Most are now at home, resting from the day or preparing for the evening."

A while later, as they rode across Place Vendôme toward the reception entrance to Hôtel Ritz, Michael said, "In 1897, at the urgings of their better clients, César Ritz and his chef, Auguste Escoffier, left the Savoy Hotel in London and purchased this. Originally a château built in 1705, it had later been converted to a hotel."

"All of that?" Maria pointed through the windows as she craned her neck. "Both wings?"

Michael chuckled. "Yes, all of it. César had the interior completely rebuilt, wanting to provide his clientele with all the refinement that a prince could desire in his own home. Included in this was a bathroom for every suite, rare in Paris hotels at that time."

Maria giggled. "And with real commodes, not holes in the floor."

"Yes, and beyond that, he furnished the hotel with all the comfort and appeal of an English or French gentleman's house, wanting to make clients feel at home. The Prince of Wales was one of the early regular patrons; then, as King Edward, it was his choice of accommodation during visits, both official and personal, adding to the reputation of the hotel."

"Is staying here another perquisite of the comfortably disposed?"

"Indeed, it is."