sirs, I said not a syllable in disparagement of the house yelept Dorée!
Is it not there that we eat of the crab of Bordeaux, succulent and
roseate? Is it not there that we drink of Veuve Cliquot the costly, and
of that Johannisberger, to which all other hocks are vinegar and water?
Never let it be said that Franz Müller, being of sound mind and body,
did less than justice to the reputation of the _Maison Dorée_."

"To the _Maison Dorée_, then," said Dalrymple, "with what speed and
appetite we may! By Jove! Herr Franz, you are a _connoisseur_ in the
matter of dining."

"A man who for twenty-nine days out of every thirty pays his sixty-five
centimes for two dishes at a student's Restaurant in the Quartier Latin,
knows better than most people where to go for a good dinner when he has
the chance," said Müller, philosophically. "The ragoûts of the
Temple--the _arlequins_ of the _Cité_--the fried fish of the Odéon
arcades--the unknown hashes of the _guingettes_, and the 'funeral baked
meats' of the Palais Royal, are all familiar to my pocket and my palate.
I do not scruple to confess that in cases of desperate emergency, I have
even availed myself of the advantages of _Le hasard_."

"_Le hasard_." said I. "What is that?"

"_Le hasard de la fourchette_," replied the student, "is the resort of
the vagabond, the _gamin_, and the _chiffonier_. It lies down by the
river-side, near the Halles, and consists of nothing but a shed, a fire,
and a caldron. In this caldron a seething sea of oleaginous liquid
conceals an infinite variety of animal and vegetable substances. The
arrangements of the establishment are beautifully simple. The votary
pays his five centimes and is armed by the presiding genius of the place