a rose. Would Monsieur taste of this capon a la casserole, or of
this truffled peacock? Would a slice of this juicy ham a l'anglaise
tempt Monsieur le Comte, or would he give himself the pain of
trying this turkey aux olives? Here was a salad whose secret
Monsieur le Marquis's cook had learnt in Italy, and here a
vol-au-vent that was invented by Quelon himself.

Basile urged his wines upon him, accompanied by a page who bore a
silver tray laden with beakers and Wagons. Would Monsieur le Comte
take white Armagnac or red Anjou? This was a Burgundy of which
Monsieur le Marquis thought highly, and this a delicate Lombardy
wine that His Majesty had oft commended. Or perhaps Monsieur de
Chatellerault would prefer to taste the last vintage of Bardelys?

And so they plagued him and bewildered him until his choice was
made; and even then a couple of them held themselves in readiness
behind his chair to forestall his slightest want. Indeed, had he
been the very King himself, no greater honour could we have shown
him at the Hotel de Bardelys.

But the restraint that his coming had brought with it hung still
upon the company, for Chatellerault was little loved, and his
presence there was much as that of the skull at an Egyptian banquet.

For of all these fair-weather friends that sat about my table -
amongst whom there were few that had not felt his power - I feared
there might be scarcely one would have the grace to dissemble his
contempt of the fallen favourite. That he was fallen, as much his
words as what already we had known, had told us.