with some sardines--"

They were handed cherry cake with whipped cream.

"What is your husband's favourite meat?" asked the Widow.

"I really do not know," I answered.

"You really do not know? How long have you been married?"

"Three years."

"But you cannot be in earnest! You would not have kept house as his wife
for a week without knowing that fact."

"I really never asked him; he is not at all particular about his food."

A pause. They all looked at me, shaking their heads, their mouths full of
cherry stones.

"No wonder there is a repetition in England of that dreadful state of
things in Paris," said the Widow, folding her dinner napkin. "How can a
woman expect to keep her husband if she does not know his favourite food
after three years?"

"Mahlzeit!"

"Mahlzeit!"

I closed the door after me.