received very coolly, spoiled child that he really was, rubbing his
hands as he took the foot of the table. At the sight of the _bouilli_
before him, from which a savory steam ascended to his epicurean
nostrils, he said, notwithstanding: "Soup and _bouilli_ too! Ah, madame,
I see why you absented yourself so cruelly this morning. You have been
engaged in good works!"

"Only the sauces, Favraud!--_seulement les sauces_."

"The sauces--it's just that!--Ude is a mere charlatan in comparison,"
turning to me. "Miss Harz, you never tasted any thing before like
madame's soup and sauces. I wish she would take me in partnership for a
while, if only to teach me the recipes that will otherwise die with her.
What a restaurant we two could keep together!"

"You are too unsteady, Favraud, for my _maître d'hôtel_. Your mind is
too much engrossed by the bubbles of politics, you would spoil all my
materials, and realize the old proverb that 'the devil sends cooks.' But
go to work like a good fellow, and carve the dish before you; by that
time the soup will be removed. I have a fine fish, however, in reserve
(let me announce this at once), for my end of the table."

"Here are croquets too, as I live," said Duganne, lifting a cover before
him and peeping in, then returning it quietly to its place. "Are you a
fairy, madame?"

"Much more like a witch," she said, with gayety. "You young men, at
least, think every old, toothless gray-haired crone like me ready for
the stake, you know."