"Have I a husband?" and with those words she fled away out of
sight.

"Well," cried the Count, "dinner is growing cold.--Come,
monsieur."

Thereupon I followed the master of the house into the
dining-room. Dinner was served with all the luxury which we have
learned to expect in Paris. There were five covers laid, three for
the Count and Countess and their little daughter; my own, which
should have been HIS; and another for the canon of Saint-Denis,
who said grace, and then asked:

"Why, where can our dear Countess be?"

"Oh! she will be here directly," said the Count. He had hastily
helped us to the soup, and was dispatching an ample plateful with
portentous speed.

"Oh! nephew," exclaimed the canon, "if your wife were here, you
would behave more rationally."

"Papa will make himself ill!" said the child with a mischievous
look.

Just after this extraordinary gastronomical episode, as the Count
was eagerly helping himself to a slice of venison, a housemaid
came in with, "We cannot find madame anywhere, sir!"