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Nay, when she looked from the dark corner, phosphorescent jets seemed to break from them. "Come, mother, toss the cup and tell me what Fortune has in store for me this time," said the chief, who had seated himself upon a low, creaking stool in the corner. "I will," she replied; "why should I not when I am honoured so much as to receive a visit from le grand chef de Metis."
Whether, as Saint Simon intimates, it was that "weary of the yoke of Madame des Ursins, he desired pointer de son chef," whether that, favourable to the Duke of Orleans, perhaps even to the allies, he had voluntarily caused the failure of the expedition which the Spanish government meditated against Sardinia, or whether he had dreamed of an anti-French reaction, he ended his days in a state prison.
"What has happened?" Strong asked of the chef, in Spanish. "I am Chevalier de Juillet," said the other, slapping his breast, "and he has insulted me." "What has he said to you?" asked Strong. "Il m'a appele Cuisinier," hissed out the little Frenchman. Strong could hardly help laughing. "Come away with me, poor Chevalier," he said. "We must not quarrel before ladies.
They were either French, Spanish or Portuguese. He could distinctly see the white field of the flag they flew, "but they were at too great a distance to discover if there was anything else on it." The flag, of course, showed the golden lilies of France on a white ground. One of the ships, King records, "wore a CHEF D'ESCADRE'S pennant," that is, a commodore's.
"You remember that, at the end, I suggested several things likely to be on the table. They were not there, as you might have seen if you had had the picture before you. That was a test of the susceptibility to suggestion of the chef. Francois may not mean to lie, but I'm afraid we'll have to get along without him in getting to the bottom of the case.
Before long he has established what looks like an infallible method for producing an effect of which, a few months earlier, no one had so much as dreamed. This is one reason why Picasso is a born chef d'école. And this is why of each new phase in his art the earlier examples are apt to be the more vital and well-nourished.
When, warmed by champagne, he had her all to himself, he unbosomed himself of his wrongs; of his smothered resentment against the new chef at the club; his worry over the house in Wigmore Street, where the rascally tenant had gone bankrupt through helping his brother-in-law as if charity did not begin at home; of his deafness, too, and that pain he sometimes got in his right side.
Max was still dogged. "Unless you can add to those shares of stock, it's pretty drab, captain. You wouldn't know." Joe said, "Why don't you work? A Lower can always add to his stock by working." Max stirred in indignity. "Work? Listen, sir, that's just one more field that's been automated right out of existence. Category Food Preparation, Sub-division Cooking, Branch Chef.
"Legrange, Sire, chef d'escadron of the Second Voltigeurs," said the young man, trembling from head to foot while he uncovered his head, and stood, cap in hand, before him. "Since when, sir, have I called you into my counsels and asked your advice? or what is it in your position which entitles you to question one in mine? Duroc, come here. Your sword, sir!"
He regretted that he had cut off his queue to please Stella Allendale in the prenuptial days, and he seriously considered the advisability of shaving his crown and growing a new one. The dishes his highly paid chef concocted for him failed to tickle his reminiscent palate in the way that the weird messes did in the stuffy restaurant down in the Chinese quarter.
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