was with the broth of a whole flock of boiled chickens. The diners were
silent now, their noses in their plates, their faces brightened by steam
from the savoury soup, soup, two selected dishes, a salad, and a
dessert.

"Now is the time to repeat the chestnut dear to Flaubert, 'You can't
dine like this in a restaurant,'" said Durtal.

"Let's not malign the restaurants," said Des Hermies. "They afford a
very special delight to the person who has the instinct of the
inspector. I had an opportunity to gratify this instinct just the other
night. I was returning from a call on a patient, and I dropped into one
of these establishments where for the sum of three francs you are
entitled to soup, two selected dishes, a salad, and a dessert.

"The restaurant, where I go as often as once a month, has an unvarying
clientele, hostile highbrows, officers in mufti, members of Parliament,
bureaucrats.

"While laboriously gnawing my way through a redoubtable sole with sauce
au gratin, I examined the habitués seated all around me and I found them
singularly altered since my last visit. They had become bony or bloated;
their eyes were either hollow, with violet rings around them, or puffy,
with crimson pouches beneath; the fat people had become yellow and the
thin ones were turning green.

"More deadly than the forgotten venefices of the days of the Avignon
papacy, the terrible preparations served in this place were slowly
poisoning its customers.