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"I am writing our menu, for you know we are not going to sit down at the table like the bourgeois. How do you like it?" She read it to him. "Sardines de Nantes." "Cuisse de dinde rotie." "Terrine de pate de foie gras aux truffes du Perigord." "But this is a feast." "Did you think that I would offer you a fricandeau au jus?" She continued: "Fromage de Brie." "Choux a la creme vanillge."
The morning of our departure arrived. We sat down to breakfast as usual. Lord Vincent's carriage was at the door; his groom was walking about his favourite saddle horse. "A beautiful mare that is of your's," said I, carelessly looking at it, and reaching across the table to help myself to the pate de foie gras.
So the first question he addressed to Gras concerned the Tennis goldsmith, and it was a keen disappointment to Hermon when he learned that the earliest time he could expect to see him would be the following day. The skilful artisan had been engaged for weeks upon the gold ornaments on the new doors of the holy of holies in the Temple of Amon at Tanis.
Rarely had a messenger of love been awaited with such feverish suspense as the slave whom Gras had despatched to Tanis to induce the goldsmith to return home. He might come soon after nightfall, and Hermon used the interval to ask the Bithynian the questions which he had long expected. The replies afforded little additional information.
The maid could not have praised her better if she had been paid to do so. In the morning Leah brought the chocolate and sat down on my bed, saying that we should have some fine foie gras, and that she should have all the better appetite for dinner as she had not taken any supper. "Why didn't you take any supper?"
Copperhead's cheek, well as she was used to them; but her son was less susceptible, and ate his breakfast steadily, and did not care. "A pretty pair you are," said Mr. Copperhead. "I like your gentility. How much foie gras would you eat for breakfast, I wonder, my lad, if you had to work for it? Luckily for you, I wasn't brought up to talk, as you say, like a gentleman.
However, here it was that the formerly celebrated girl, who awoke storms of applause when she danced beside Cerrito at the Opéra, now lived buried in silence, a cab going to the Villa Montmorency seemed an event in her eyes, forgotten, her windows shut, and as a diversion looking through the shutters at the high chimneys of some factory in the neighboring Rue Gras that belched forth their ruddy or bluish fumes, or yellow like sulphuric acid, or again red like the reflection of fire.
We had exchanged a few commonplace words; and I raised my eyes to the net, and thought: "He must have three children: the bonbons are for his wife, the doll for his little girl, the drum and the gun for his sons, and this pate de foies gras for himself." Suddenly I asked him: "Are you a father, monsieur?" He answered: "No, monsieur."
Evans took up the subject and revealed herself as a good-natured and kindly personage, who had wistful yearnings for mush and molasses, and flap-jacks, and bread fried in bacon-grease, and similar sensible things, while her chef was compelling her to eat paté de foie gras in aspic, and milk-fed guinea-chicks, and biscuits glacées Tortoni.
But the Bithynian soon regretted this proposal, for it fell like a hoar-frost upon the blind man's happy mood. He curtly declined. He would not play host where he was himself a guest, and pride forbade him to use the property of others as though it were his own. He could not regain his suddenly awakened pleasure in existence before Gras warned him it was time to go to rest.
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