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"Yes, 'm," said Maria, and disappeared, but was back in a few minutes. "If you please, 'm, Mrs Millett says there is no cold chicken, 'm." "Indeed?" said Helen wonderingly. "Very well, then, the cold veal pie." "Yes, 'm." Maria disappeared, and came back again. "Please, 'm, Mrs Millett says there is no veal pie." "Then tell her to make an omelette." "Yes, 'm." Maria left the room and came back.
For days and days he had imagined himself in heaven with a seraph who was also a good cook. He had forty times congratulated himself on catching Helen. And now...! But it must stop. Then he thought of the cooking. His mouth remembered its first taste of the incomparable kidney omelette. What an ecstasy!
We are," she called presently from the far end of the vast apartment. "You've no idea how picturesque you look around that dark wooden table with those candles and the blue water pitcher and the pewter coffee pot." "And the empty omelette dish," called Billie. "And only one biscuit left," added Elinor. "I've no doubt Mr. Rembrandt would have painted us just so," said Mr. Campbell.
It was only for a moment, however, the next he had passed his hand slowly across his forehead, as if to wipe away that shadow and smooth out those lines of unspoken pain. Soon his cheerful voice was heard, echoing along the low rafters of the little inn, loudly calling for Annette and for news of the baked omelette and the fricandeau. "You really could have talked quite freely before Mr.
"The woman breaks the eggs, fries the omelette, and dishes it up without any more grumbling; somehow this squabble began to make her feel very uncomfortable. Her husband sits down and begins to eat. The hunchback was frightened, and said that she was not hungry. "'Tap! tap! There was a stranger rapping at the door. "'Who is there? "'The man that died yesterday!
Yes, madame, Cinti and Malibran, Grisi and Taglioni, Pasta and Ellsler, all who reign or have reigned on the stage, can't be compared, to my mind, with Malaga, who can jump on or off a horse at full gallop, or stand on the point of one foot and fall easily into the saddle, and knit stockings, break eggs, and make an omelette with the horse at full speed, to the admiration of the people, the real people, peasants and soldiers.
When he had finished his omelette and we were again alone, Rouletabille continued the tale of his confidences. "When I sent you my telegram this morning," he said, "I had only the word of Monsieur Darzac, that 'perhaps' the assassin would come to-night. I can now say that he will certainly come. I expect him." "What has made you feel this certainty?"
They found a little inn at the edge of the water, where they partook of omelette and native wine, served in a pretty loggia; after which they sauntered about the place, purchasing a piece of lace of one and another picturesque old hag, and picking up some quaint bits of pottery in a dingy shop under the arcades.
"Turned," continued Yuba Bill, severely, "turned into a restyourant waiter, a garsong! Eh, Alfonse, bring me a patty de foy grass and an omelette, demme!" "Dear old chap!" said Islington, laughing, and trying to put his hand over Bill's bearded mouth, "but you YOU don't look exactly like yourself! You're not well, Bill."
Parsley, thyme and sweet marjoram mixed gives the famous omelette aux fines herbes so popular at every wayside inn in the most remote corner of sunny France. An omelet "jardiniere" is two tablespoonfuls of mixed parsley, onion, chives, shallots and a few leaves each of sorrel and chevril, minced fine and stirred into the beaten eggs before cooking.
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