Part 7 (2/2)
”Aha!” said the host, ”it seems that our friends are satisfied; I was sure that that rabbit stew would restore their good humor. So much the better! the result will be that the fowl will pa.s.s the more readily. We must make haste and serve it with the salad. Goton, give me the bottle of oil. That's it. Have you put the eggs on yet? on the top of the salad? Good! that's very good. This meal will bring us in enough to last a week.”
Our man returned to the dining-room, where they had made up their minds to laugh instead of dining. He placed the fowl on the table and stood silent, with the air of a man who expects a compliment.
”On my word, monsieur le traiteur,” said Edouard, trying to keep a sober face, ”you treat us very strangely! What kind of a thing is a frica.s.see of cup-and-ball?”
”What do you mean, monsieur?”
”That we never had such a thing before, Monsieur Bonneau, and that we don't like it.”
”But what does it mean?”
”Look, monsieur, is this rabbit?”
Master Bonneau was thunderstruck when he saw the cup-and-ball covered with gravy.
”Here,” said Adeline, ”take away your rabbit stew; what we found in it has taken away all desire to taste it.”
”Madame, I am really distressed at what I see! But you must realize that it is not my fault. If rabbits eat cups-and-b.a.l.l.s----”
”Ah! this is too much; and if your fowl is no better than the rest, we shall have to go elsewhere to dine.”
The host left the room, without waiting to hear any more; he rushed back to the kitchen, crimson with rage, and began to pull Fanfan's ears, to teach him to put cups-and-b.a.l.l.s in his stews.
”What on earth is the matter, my dear?” Madame Bonneau asked her husband, as she brought him the plate containing the remedy for burns.
”What's the matter? What's the matter? This little scamp is forever doing foolish things! He stuffs all sorts of trash into my stews; the other day I found two corks in a chowder; luckily it was for drunkards who took them for mushrooms; but to-day we have some people who are very particular, and he is responsible for their not tasting my rabbit stew; and that too, just at the moment when I carried them that unlucky fowl!
The little scamp is as dirty as if he were employed in some low cook-shop! Wife, sc.r.a.pe your burn carefully, you still have some potato on it. Well! I must repair my reputation with the souffle.”
While Bonneau labored over the souffle, Edouard was trying to carve the fowl, and Madame Germeuil seasoned the salad. But in vain did the young man turn and return the old turkey; it was all dried up, because it had been on the fire so much, and the knife was powerless to pierce it.
”I must give it up,” said Edouard, pus.h.i.+ng the dish away.
”It is impossible to eat this oil,” said Madame Germeuil, who had just tasted the salad.
”Evidently we shan't dine to-day,” said Adeline.
”Faith, mesdames,” said Edouard, rising from the table, ”I don't think it worth while to wait for the potato souffle, in which we should undoubtedly find pieces of fish. Put on your shawls and bonnets while I go and say a word to the restaurant keeper, who really seems to have intended to make sport of us.”
”But pray don't lose your temper, my dear! Remember that the wisest way is to laugh at everything that has happened; is it not, mamma?”
”Yes, my daughter; but still we ought not to pay for such a dinner as this.”
Edouard left the room and went toward the kitchen. As he was about to enter the common room, the voice of one of the servants reached his ear; he heard the word souffle, and stopped by the gla.s.s door, curious to learn the subject of their discussion; there he overheard the following conversation:
”I tell you, Marianne, I wouldn't eat that stuff that our master's making now, not even if he would pay me for doing it.”
”Then you're very hard to suit! That's a delicacy that he's making.”
”A pretty kind of delicacy! and it will taste nice!”
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