"What of it? As though ye'd not been dreaming of pancakes this fortnight
an' more past--fearful to mention thim an' fearful lest I should forget.
Well, well, if ye'll bring a good flour ration in the marning I'll do me
best."

"I've been thinking, Peggy lass," said the gratified Sergeant-Major, "it
wud be the polite thing to make a few for thim dacent people on the
ground-flure. I'll wager they've niver seen th' taste av' a pancake in this
country."

Thus it was that when Hippolyte Larivière, the cornet-player of the Palais
de Cinéma, ascended the stairs to his eerie on the top-floor of 10 _bis_
the following evening the appetising odour of frying batter enveloped him
as a garment. He sniffed appreciatively.

"_Le gros_ Bonneton can eat _crêpes_ freely without considering the effect
on his temperament," he said. "One sometimes regrets the demands of Art."

Outside the Coghlans' door another idea struck him. "The essence of a
present lies not in its value but its appropriateness. A few _crêpes_ on
Mardi Gras would be a novel acknowledgment to the Sergeant-Major of his
liberality in the way of cigarettes. At present my case is empty."

Retracing his steps he went to the Café aux Gourmets and persuaded the
_propriétaire_ to prepare half-a-dozen _crêpes_ with all possible speed and
send them piping-hot to his room in exchange for a promise of his influence
in getting her on the free list of the Cinema. Then, in a glow of virtue,
he returned to prepare his toilette for the evening performance.