"Fontainebleau, 108 France Street, British Hotel, we're going there today." Victor exclaimed, puffing on a cigar, "Nowadays, few places in Paris can compare to it. You English may not understand cooking, but your wallets have taught French chefs how to perfectly sear a steak."
Arthur gazed at the scenery out the window and asked, "Do you often go there?"
"Not very often, just occasionally." Victor smiled, "Those journalists who love to drink often go there to stir up trouble, so eating there, you sometimes hear tomorrow's headlines faster than reading the newspaper. Oh, by the way, George Sand originally lived upstairs at the British Hotel, but she moved to the France Restaurant a couple of years ago."
"Why?" Arthur asked indifferently, "Patriotism?"
Victor burst into laughter at this, "Brother, your sense of humor is always just right."
Arthur sighed, taking out a cigar box, "Mr. Victor, you always like to misunderstand me. In many cases, I'm not joking, I'm serious."
