(_With the British Army in France._)
"Have you reflected, _mon chou_," said M'sieur Bonneton, complacently
regarding the green carnations on his carpet-slippers, "that to-morrow is
Mardi Gras?"
"I have," replied Madame shortly.
"One may expect then, _ma petite,_ that there will be _crêpes_ for dinner?"
"With eggs at twelve francs the dozen?" said Madame decidedly. "One may
not."
On any other matter M'sieur would probably have taken his wife's decision
as final, but he had a consuming passion for _crêpes_, and was moreover a
diplomat.
"_La vie chère!_" he said sadly; "it cuts at the very vitals of
hospitality. With what pleasure I could have presented myself to our
amiable neighbours, the Sergeant-Major Coghlan and his estimable wife, and
said, 'It is the custom in France for all the world to eat _crêpes_ on
Mardi Gras. Accept these, then, made by Madame Bonneton herself, who in the
making of this national delicacy is an incomparable artist.' But when eggs
are twelve francs the dozen"--he shook his head gloomily--"generous
sentiments must perish."
Madame perceptibly softened.
"Perhaps, after all, I might persuade that miser Dobelle to sell me a few
at ten francs the dozen," she murmured; and M'sieur knew that diplomacy had
won another notable victory.
Curiously enough, at this precise moment the tenants of the _premier étage_
of 10 _bis_, rue de la République, were also engaged in a gastronomic
discussion.
"If almanacs in France count as they do in Aldershot," said Mrs. Coghlan,
"to-morrow will be Shrove Tuesday."
"An' what av it?" demanded Sergeant-Major Coghlan of the British Army.
"What of it? As though ye'd not been dreaming of pancakes this fortnight
an' more past--fearful to mention thim an' fearful lest I should forget.
Well, well, if ye'll bring a good flour ration in the marning I'll do me
best."
"I've been thinking, Peggy lass," said the gratified Sergeant-Major, "it
wud be the polite thing to make a few for thim dacent people on the
ground-flure. I'll wager they've niver seen th' taste av' a pancake in this
country."
Thus it was that when Hippolyte Larivière, the cornet-player of the Palais
de Cinéma, ascended the stairs to his eerie on the top-floor of 10 _bis_
the following evening the appetising odour of frying batter enveloped him
as a garment. He sniffed appreciatively.
"_Le gros_ Bonneton can eat _crêpes_ freely without considering the effect
on his temperament," he said. "One sometimes regrets the demands of Art."
Outside the Coghlans' door another idea struck him. "The essence of a
present lies not in its value but its appropriateness. A few _crêpes_ on
Mardi Gras would be a novel acknowledgment to the Sergeant-Major of his
liberality in the way of cigarettes. At present my case is empty."
Retracing his steps he went to the Café aux Gourmets and persuaded the
_propriétaire_ to prepare half-a-dozen _crêpes_ with all possible speed and
send them piping-hot to his room in exchange for a promise of his influence
in getting her on the free list of the Cinema. Then, in a glow of virtue,
he returned to prepare his toilette for the evening performance.
It was while Hippolyte was dabbing his cheeks with a damp towel that
M'sieur Bonneton and Sergeant-Major Coghlan, having comfortably satisfied
their respective appetites with _crêpes_ and pancakes, proceeded to call
upon each other, bearing gifts. The dignity of the presentations was
impaired by the fact that they almost collided on the stairs.
"Mrs. Coghlan wud like your opinion on these pancakes," said the Sergeant-
Major, dexterously fielding one that was sliding from the plate.
"And permit me to beg your acceptance of these _crêpes_, a dish peculiar to
France and eaten as a matter of custom on Mardi Gras," said M'sieur in his
most correct English, producing his plate with a flourish worthy of a
head-waiter.
"'Tis with all the pleasure in life we'll be tasting thim--" commenced
Coghlan. Then his eye fell on the dish and his voice dropped. M'sieur was
also showing signs of embarrassment.
"It seems _crêpes_ is but another name for pancakes," said the Sergeant-
Major heavily, after a pause.
"But yes--and I am already filled to repletion."
"We've aiten our fill too, Peggy an' me, an' they're spoilt whin they're
cowld. It's severely disappointed Peggy will be to find thim wasted."
"And Madame will be desolated to despair."
They stared blankly at each other for a few minutes. Then M'sieur took a
heroic resolve.
"We must not hurt the feelings of those excellent women," he said firmly.
"There is but one course open to us."
Coghlan nodded assent. Solemnly and without enthusiasm they sat on the
stairs and consumed the pancakes to the last crumb. Then, leaden-eyed and
breathing hard, they took their empty plates and entered their respective
flats.
A few minutes later they again encountered on the stairs. Once more they
were laden with comestibles.
"For Monsieur Larivière," explained M'sieur. "Madame insisted. She has a
heart of gold, that woman."
"Peggy's sending these up too," said the Sergeant-Major. "I towld her thim
pancakes was the greatest surprise you iver tasted."
M'sieur nodded. In response to Hippolyte's invitation they entered the
room, and M'sieur took command of the conversation. The Sergeant-Major
stood stiffly to attention, feeling that the occasion demanded it.
"Two little gifts," said M'sieur, "of epicurean distinction. The _crêpes_
of Madame Bonneton are an achievement, but the pancakes of Madame Coghlan
are irresistible."
"I thank you from the recesses of my heart," said Hippolyte with emotion;
"but--you understand me--as the slave of Art I am compelled to forgo such
pleasures."
"My friend," said M'sieur sternly, to refuse them would be an affront to
the cooking of these excellent ladies. A true housewife esteems her cooking
only next to her virtue. You must _eat_ them--while they are hot."
"But my _tremolo_--my _sostenuto_ will be ruined," said Hippolyte wildly.
"What is your _tremolo_ to a woman's tears?" said M'sieur, with an elegance
born of a fear that he might be compelled to eat the pancakes himself. "The
laws of hospitality--chivalry--_l'entente cordiale_ itself--demand that you
finish them."
When Hippolyte finally yielded, his rapid and efficient despatch of the
dainties excited the admiration of his hosts. They had collected their
plates and were taking their departure, with expressions of regard, when a
knock announced the arrival of a _garçon_ from the Café aux Gourmets,
bearing a dish of crisp hot _crêpes_.
"One moment, Messieurs," said Hippolyte dramatically to his departing
visitors. "It must not be said that Hippolyte Larivière lacks in
neighbourly feeling. Behold my seasonable gift!"
M'sieur groaned. The Sergeant-Major, being a soldier, concealed his
apprehensions. Wild thoughts of surreptitiously disposing of them in a
coal-bin whirled through their minds, but Hippolyte apparently divined
their thoughts.
"I regret that I must forgo the pleasure I promised myself of asking the
ladies to take _crêpes_ with me," he said. "To offer these would be a poor
compliment to their superlative efforts. But there is no reason why _you_
should not eat them here."
"I have an excellent reason," said M'sieur, stroking his waistcoat. "And
the gallant Sergeant-Major, I imagine, has another."
"Bah! what is a little digestive inconvenience to a breach of courtesy?"
cried Hippolyte maliciously. "You must eat them. _The law of hospitality
demands it._"
When M'sieur and the Sergeant-Major stumbled unsteadily downstairs ten
minutes later their eyes bulged with the expression of those whose cup of
suffering is filled to overflowing.
"But after all," as M'sieur remarked, placing his hand on his heart, whence
it insensibly wandered to a point lower down, "it is some satisfaction to
know that the feelings of our excellent wives remain unlacerated."
* * * * *
[Illustration: MANNERS AND MODES.