to improve the flavour of the black butter, which seemed rather
insipid. They ate with a will, and the hunks of bread swiftly
disappeared. There was nothing refined about the repast, and the wine
was mere common stuff, which they watered considerably from a feeling
of delicacy, in order to lessen their host's expenses. They had just
saluted the leg of mutton with a hurrah, and the host had begun to
carve it, when the door opened anew. But this time there were furious
protests.

'No, no, not another soul! Turn him out, turn him out.'

Dubuche, out of breath with having run, bewildered at finding himself
amidst such howling, thrust his fat, pallid face forward, whilst
stammering explanations.

'Really, now, I assure you it was the fault of the omnibuses. I had to
wait for five of them in the Champs Elysees.'

'No, no, he's lying!--Let him go, he sha'n't have any of that mutton.
Turn him out, turn him out!'

All the same, he ended by coming in, and it was then noticed that he
was stylishly attired, all in black, trousers and frock-coat alike,
and cravated and booted in the stiff ceremonious fashion of some
respectable member of the middle classes going out to dinner.

'Hallo! he has missed his invitation,' chaffed Fagerolles. 'Don't you
see that his fine ladies didn't ask him to stay to dinner, and so now
he's come to gobble up our leg of mutton, as he doesn't know where
else to go?'