"Masticate _amoroso._

"Drink two or three glasses of champagne dipped in ice, dry Sillery the

year of the comet.

"Dessert.

"Cheese from Brie made on the farm of Estonville, near Meaux. This house

had for forty years the honour of serving the palate of Prince

Talleyrand, who pronounced the cheese of Brie the king of cheeses,--the

only royalty to which this great diplomatist remained faithful unto

death.

"Drink a glass or two of Port wine drawn from a hogshead recovered from

the great earthquake of Lisbon.

"Bless Providence for this miraculous salvage, and empty your glass

piously.

"N. B. Never fruits in the morning; they chill, burden, and involve the

stomach at the expense of the repose of the evening; simply rinse the

mouth with a glass of cream from the Barbadoes of Madame Amphoux, 1780,

and take a light siesta, dreaming of dinner."

It is needless to say that all the prescriptions of the cook were

followed literally by the canon, whose appetite, now a prodigious thing,

seemed to increase in proportion as it was fed; finally, having

exhausted his glass to the last drop, Dom Diégo, his ears scarlet, his

eyes softly closed, and his cheeks flushed, commenced to feel the tepid

moisture and light torpor of a happy and easy digestion; then, sinking

into his armchair with a delicious languor, he said to his majordomo:

"If I were not conscious of a tiger's hunger, which threatens explosion

too soon, I would believe myself in Paradise. So, Pablo, go at once for

this great man of the kitchen, this veritable magician; tell him to come

and enjoy his work; tell him to come and judge of the ineffable

beatitude in which he has plunged me, and above all, Pablo, tell him

that if I do not go myself to testify my admiration, my gratitude, it is

because--"

The canon was interrupted by the sight of the culinary artist, who

suddenly entered the room, and stood face to face with Diégo, staring at

him with a strange expression of countenance.

CHAPTER VIII.

At the sight of the cook, who wore, according to the habit of his

profession, a white vest and a cotton cap,--the ancient and highly

classic schools of Laguipierre, Morel, and Carême remained faithful to

the cotton cap, the young romantic school adopting the toque of white

muslin,--Canon Dom Diégo rose painfully from his armchair, made two

steps toward the culinary artist, with his hands extended, and cried, in

a voice full of emotion:

"Welcome, my saviour, my friend, my dear friend! Yes, I am proud to give

you this title; you have deserved it, because I owe you my appetite, and

appetite is happiness,--it is life!"

The cook did not appear extremely grateful for the friendly title with

which the canon had honoured him; he remained silent, his arms crossed

on his breast, and his gaze fixed on Dom Diégo, but the latter, in the

fiery ardour of gastronomic gratitude, did not observe the sardonic

smile,--we would almost say Satanic smile,--which played upon the lips

of the great man of the kitchen, and so continued the expression of his

gratitude:

"My friend," pursued the canon, "from this day you are mine; your

conditions will be mine. I am rich; good cheer is my only passion, and

for you I will not be a master, but an admirer. Never, my friend, never,

have you been better appreciated. You have told me yourself you work

only for art, and you prove it, for I declare openly you are the

greatest master cook of the world. The miracle that you have wrought

to-day, not only in restoring my appetite, but in increasing it as I

tasted your masterpieces (even at this hour I feel able to enjoy another

breakfast), this miracle, I say, places you outside of the line of

ordinary cooks. We will never part, my dear friend; all that you ask I

will grant; you can take other assistants, other subalterns, if you

desire to do so. I wish to spare you all fatigue; your health is too

precious to me to permit you to compromise it, for henceforth,--I feel

it there," and Dom Diégo put his fat hand on his stomach,--"henceforth,

I shall not know how to live without you, and--"

"So," cried the cook, interrupting the canon, and smiling with a

sarcastic air, "so you have breakfasted well, my lord canon?"

"Have I breakfasted well, my dear friend! Let me tell you I owe you the

enjoyment of an hour and a quarter. An inexpressible enjoyment, without

intermission except when your services were interrupted, and these

intermissions were filled with delight. Hovering between hope and

remembrance, was I not expecting new pleasures with an insatiable

longing? You ask me if I have breakfasted well! Pablo will tell you that

I have wept with tenderness. That is my reply."

"I have been permitted, my lord, to send you some wines as

accompaniments, because good dishes without good wines are like a

beautiful woman without soul. Now, have you found these wines palatable,

my lord?"

"Palatable! Great God, what blasphemy! Inestimable samples of all known

nectars--palatable! Wines whose value could not be paid, if you

exchanged them, bottle for bottle, with liquid gold--palatable! Come

now, my dear friend, your modesty is exaggerated, as you seemed a moment

ago to exaggerate your immense talent. But I recognise the fact that, if

your genius should be boasted to hyperbole, there would still remain

more than half untold."

"I have still more wine of this quality," said the cook, coldly; "for

twenty-five years I have been preparing a tolerable cellar for myself."

"But this tolerable cellar, my dear friend, must have cost you

millions?"

"It has cost me nothing, my lord."

"Nothing."

"They are all so many gifts to my humble merit."

"I am by no means astonished, my dear friend, but what are you going to

do with this cellar, which is rich enough to be the envy of a king? Ah,

if you desired to surrender to me the whole, or a part of it, I would

not hesitate to make any sacrifice for its possession; because, as you

have just said with so much significance, good dishes without good wines

are like a beautiful woman without soul. Now, these wines accompany your

productions so admirably that--I--"

The cook interrupted Dom Diégo with a sarcastic, sneering laugh.

"You laugh, my friend?" said the canon, greatly surprised. "You laugh?"

"Yes, my lord, I laugh."

"And at what, my friend?"

"At your gratitude to me, my lord canon."

"My friend, I do not understand you."

"Ah, Lord Dom Diégo! you believe that your good angel--and I picture him

to myself, fat and chubby, dressed as I am, like a cook, and wearing

pheasant wings on the back of his white robe!--ah, you believe, I say,

my lord canon, that your good angel has sent me to you!"

"My dear friend," said Dom Diégo, stretching his large eyes, and feeling

very uncomfortable on account of the cook's sardonic humour, "my dear

friend, I pray you, explain yourself clearly."

"My lord canon, this day will prove a fatal one for you."

"Great God! what do you say?"

"My lord canon!" replied the cook, his arms crossed and his eyes fixed

in a threatening manner on the canon.

And he took a step toward Dom Diégo, who recoiled from him with an

expression of pain.

"My lord canon, look at me well."

"I--I--am looking at you," stammered Dom Diégo, "but--"

"My lord canon, my face shall pursue you everywhere, in your sleep and

in your waking hours! You shall see me always before you, with my cotton

cap and white jacket, like a terrible and fantastic apparition."

"Ah, my God! it is all up with me!" murmured the canon, terrified. "My

presentiments did not deceive me; this appetite was too miraculous,

these dishes, these wines, too supernatural not to have some awful

mystery, some infernal magic in them."

Just at this critical moment the canon fortunately saw his majordomo

enter.

"My lord," said Pablo, "the lawyer has just arrived; you know the lawyer

who--"

"Pablo, stop there!" cried Dom Diégo, seizing his majordomo by the arm

and drawing him near to himself. "Do not leave me."

"My God, sir! what is the matter?" said Pablo. "You seem to be

frightened."

"Ah, Pablo, if you only knew," said Dom Diégo, in a low, whining voice,

without daring to turn his eyes away from the cook.

"My lord," replied Pablo, "I told you the lawyer had arrived."

"What lawyer, Pablo?"

"The one who comes to draw up in legal form your demand for the arrest

of Captain Horace, guilty of the abduction of Senora Dolores."

"Pablo, it is impossible to occupy myself now with business. I have no

head--I must be dreaming. Ah, if you only knew what had happened! This

cook--oh, my presentiments!"

"Then, my lord, I am going to send the lawyer away."

"No!" cried the canon, "no, it is this miserable Captain Horace who is

the cause of all my ills. If he had not destroyed my appetite, I should

have already breakfasted this morning when this tempter in a white

jacket introduced himself here, and I would not have been the victim of

his sorcery. No," added Dom Diégo, in a paroxysm of anger, "tell this

lawyer to wait; he shall write my complaint this very hour. But first

let me get out of this awful perplexity," added he, throwing a

frightened glance at the silent and formidable cook. "I must know what

this mysterious being wants of me to terrify me so. Tell the lawyer to

enter my study, and do not leave me, Pablo."

The majordomo went to say a few words outside of the door to the lawyer,

who entered an adjacent room, and the canon, the majordomo, and the cook

remained alone.

Dom Diégo, encouraged by the presence of Pablo, tried to reassure

himself, and said to the man in the white jacket, who still preserved

his unruffled and sardonic demeanour:

"See, my good friend, let us talk seriously. It is neither a question of

good or of bad angels, but of a man who possesses tremendous talent,--I

am speaking of you,--whom I would like to attach to my household at

whatever price it may cost. We were discussing the cellar of divine

wines, for the acquisition of which I would esteem no sacrifice too

much. I speak to you with all the sincerity of my soul, my dear and good

friend; reply to me in the same way."

Then the canon whispered to his majordomo:

"Pablo, do you stand between him and me."

"Then," replied the cook, "I will speak to you with equal sincerity, my

lord canon, and first, let me repeat, I will be the desolation, the

despair of your life."

"You?"

"I."

"Pablo, do you hear him? What have I done to him? My God!" murmured Dom

Diégo, "what grudge has he?"

"Remember well my words, my lord canon. In comparison with the

marvellous repast I have served you, the best dishes will seem insipid,

the best wines bitter, and your appetite, awakened a moment by my power,

will be again destroyed when I am no longer there to resurrect it."

"But, my friend," cried the canon, "you are thinking then of--"

The man in the cotton cap and white jacket again interrupted the canon

and said:

"In recalling the delicacies which I have made you enjoy a moment, you

will be like the fallen angels, who recall the celestial joys of

paradise only to regret them in the midst of lamentation and gnashing of

teeth."

"My good friend, I pray you one word!"

"You will gnash your teeth, canon!" cried the cook, in a solemn voice,

which sounded in the depths of Dom Diégo's soul like the blast of the

trumpet of the last judgment. "You will be as a soul,--no, you have no

soul, you will be like a stomach, scenting, hunting, touching all the

choicest dishes that can be served, and crying with terrible groanings

as you recall this morning's breakfast: 'Alas! alas! my appetite has

passed like a shadow; those exquisite dishes I will taste no more! alas!

alas!' Then in your despair you will become lean,--do you hear me,

canon?--you will become lean."

"Great God! Pablo, what is this wretched man saying?"

"Until the present, in spite of your loss of appetite, you have lived

upon your fat, like rats in winter, but henceforth you will suffer the

double and terrible blow of the loss of appetite and the ceaseless

regrets that I will leave to you. You will become lean, canon, yes, your

cheeks will be flabby, your triple chin will melt like wax in the sun,

your enormous stomach will become flat like a leather bottle exhausted

of its contents, your complexion, so radiant to-day, will grow yellow

under the constant flow of your tears, and you will become lean,

scraggy, and livid as an anchorite living on roots and water,--do you

hear, canon?"

"Pablo," murmured Dom Diégo, shutting his eyes, and leaning on his

majordomo, "support me. I feel as if I were struck with death. It seems

to me I see my own ghost, such as this demon portrays. Yes, Pablo, I see

myself lean, scraggy, livid. Oh, my God! it is frightful! it is

horrible! It is the divine punishment for my sin of gluttony."

"My lord, calm yourself," said the majordomo.

And addressing the cook with mingled fear and anger, he said:

"Do you undertake to tyrannise over such an excellent and venerable a

man as the Lord Dom Diégo?"

"And now," continued the cook, pitilessly, "farewell, canon, farewell

for ever."

"Farewell, farewell for ever," cried Dom Diégo, with a violent start, as

if he had received an electric shock. "What! can it be true? you will

abandon me for ever. Oh, no, no, I see all now: in making me regret your

loss so deeply, you wish to put your services at a higher price. Well,

then, speak, how much must you have?"

"Ah, ah, ah, ah!" shouted the man with the cotton cap and white jacket,

bursting into Mephistophelian laughter, and walking slowly toward the

door.

"No, no," cried the canon, clasping his hands; "no, you will not abandon

me thus,--it would be atrocious, it would be savage, it would be to

leave an unfortunate traveller in the middle of a burning desert, after

having given him the delight of an oasis full of shade and freshness."

"You ought to have been a great preacher in your time, canon," said the

man in the white jacket, continuing his march toward the door.

"Mercy, mercy!" cried Dom Diégo, in a voice choked with tears. "Ah,

indeed, it is no longer the artist, the cook of genius with whom I

plead; it is the man,--it is to one like myself that I bend the

knee,--oh, see me, and beseech him not to leave a brother in hopeless

woe."

"Yes, and see me at your knees, too, my lord cook!" cried the worthy

majordomo, excited by the emotion of his master, and like him, falling

on his knees; "a very humble poor creature joins his prayer to that of

the Lord Dom Diégo. Alas! do not abandon him, he will die!"

"Yes," replied the cook, with a Satanic burst of laughter, "he will die,

and he will die lean."

The last sarcasm changed the despair of Dom Diégo to fury. He rose

quickly, and, notwithstanding his obesity, threw himself upon the cook,

crying:

"Come to me, Pablo; the monster shall not cook for anybody, his death

only can deliver me from his infernal persecution!"

"My lord," cried the majordomo, less excited than his master, "what are

you doing? Grief makes you wild."

Fortunately, the man in the white jacket, at the first aggressive

movement of Dom Diégo, recoiled two steps, and put himself in a

defensive attitude by means of a large kitchen knife which he brandished

in one hand, while in the other he held a sharp larding-pin.

At the sight of the formidable knife and larding-pin, drawn like a

dagger, the murderous exasperation of the canon was dispelled; but the

violence of his emotions, the heat of his blood, and the state of his

digestion produced such a revolution that he tottered and fell

unconscious in the arms of the majordomo, who, too weak to sustain such

a weight, himself sank to the floor, screaming with all his strength:

"Help! help!"

Then the man in the white jacket disappeared, with a last resounding

burst of laughter which would have done honour to Satan himself, and

terrified the majordomo almost to death.

CHAPTER IX.

Many days had elapsed since the canon, Dom Diégo, had been so

mercilessly abandoned by the strange and inimitable cook of whom we have

spoken.

In the home of the Abbé Ledoux, the following scene occurred between him

and the canon.

The threatening predictions of the great cook were beginning to be

realised. Dom Diégo, pale, dejected, with a complexion yellowed by

abstinence,--for all dishes seemed to him tasteless and nauseating since

the marvellous breakfast of which he constantly dreamed,--would scarcely

have been recognised. His enormous stomach had already lost its

rotundity, and the poor man, whose physiognomy and attitude betrayed

abject misery, responded in a mournful tone to the questions of the

abbé, who, walking up and down the parlour in the greatest agitation,

addressed him in a rude and angry tone:

"In truth, you have not the least energy, Dom Diégo; you have fallen

into a desperate state of apathy."

"That is easy for you to say," murmured the canon, in a grieved tone. "I

would like very much to see you in my place, alas!"

"Oh, come now, this is shameful!"

"Abuse me, abbé, curse me; but what do you want? Since this accursed man

has abandoned me I live no longer, I eat no longer, I sleep no longer!

Ah, he well said, 'My memory and my face will pursue you everywhere,

canon!' In fact, I am always thinking of the Guinea fowl eggs, the

trout, and the roast à la Sardanapalus. And he, I see him always and

everywhere in his white jacket and cotton cap. It is like a

hallucination. To-night, even, yielding myself to a feverish, nervous

slumber, I dreamed of this demon."

"Better and better, canon."

"What a nightmare! My God! what a horrible nightmare! He had served me

with one of those exquisite, divine dishes, which he alone has the

genius to produce, and he said to me, with his sardonic air, 'Eat,

canon, eat.' It was, I recollect,--I see it still,--a delicious

reed-bird with orange sauce. I had a devouring appetite; I took my knife

and fork to carve the adorable little bird; I was carving it into

slices, golden outside and rosy within, and veined with such fine,

delicate fat. A thousand little drops of rosy juice appeared on the

flesh, like so many drops of dew, to such a point was it roasted. I

steeped it in several spoonfuls of orange sauce whose flavour tickled my

palate, before I tasted it. I took on the end of my fork a royal

mouthful; I opened my mouth. Suddenly the ferocious laughter of my

executioner resounded, and horror! I had on the end of my fork only a

great piece of rancid, glutinous, infected yellow bacon. 'Eat, canon,

why do you not eat?' repeated this accursed man, in his strident voice.

'Why do you not eat?' And in spite of myself, in spite of my terrible

repugnance, I ate! Yes, abbé, I ate this disgusting bacon. Oh, when I

think of it,--bah! it was horrible. And I awoke, bathed in tears. Night

before last another odious dream. It was about eel-pout livers, and--"

"Go to the devil, canon!" cried the abbé, already provoked by this

recital of Dom Diégo's gastronomic nightmare, "you are enough to damn a

saint with your maudlin prattle."

"Prattle!" cried the canon, in despair. "What! here for eight days I

have been able to swallow only a few spoonfuls of chocolate,--so faint,

so disheartened am I. What! I have had the fortitude to pass two hours

seated in the museums of Chevet and Bontoux, those famous cooks, hoping

that perhaps the sight of their rare collections of comestibles would

excite in me some desire of appetite,--and nothing, nothing. No, the

recollection of that celestial breakfast was there, always there,

annihilating everything by the sole power of a cherished memory. Ah,

abbé, abbé, I have never loved, but since these three days I comprehend

all that is exclusive in love; I comprehend how a man passionately in

love remains indifferent to the sight of the most beautiful creature in

the world, dreaming, alas!--three times alas!--only of the adored object

which he regrets."

"But, canon," said the abbé, looking at Dom Diégo with anxiety, "do you

know that all this will result in delirium--in insanity?"

"Eh, my God! I know it well, abbé, I am losing my head. This cursed

seducer has carried away my life and thought with him. In the street, I

gaze into the faces of all who pass, in the hope of meeting him. Great

God! if this good luck would only happen! Oh, he would not be insensible

to my prayers. 'Cruel, perfidious man,' I would say, 'look at me. See on

my features the mark of my sufferings! Will you be without pity? No, no;

mercy, mercy!'"

And the canon, falling back in his armchair, covered his face with his

hands and burst into sobs.

"My God! my God! how wretched I am!" he cried.

"What a double brute! He will be a fool, if he is not one already," said

the abbé to himself. "I will not complain of it, because, his insanity

once established, he will not leave our house, and whether it is he or

his niece little matters."

The abbé approached the canon with compunction, and said to him, gently:

"Come, my brother, be reasonable, calm yourself, perhaps we ought to

see in what has happened the punishment of Heaven."

"I think with you, abbé, this tempter came from hell. It is not given to

any human being to be such a cook. Ah, abbé, I must be a great sinner,

for my punishment is terrible!"

"You have indeed surrendered yourself, without measure, without

restraint, to one of the foulest of the capital sins,--gluttony, my dear

brother,--and I repeat to you Heaven punishes you, as is its law, in the

very thing by which you have sinned."

"But after all, what is my crime? I have simply used the admirable gifts

of the Creator, for in fact it is not I who, in order to enjoy them,

have created pheasants, ortolans, fat livers, salmon trout, truffles,

oysters, lobsters, wines, and--"

"My brother, my brother!" cried the abbé, interrupting this appetising

enumeration, "your words savour of materialism, pantheism, heresy! You

are not in a state of mind to listen to me as I refute these impious,

abominable systems which lead directly to paganism. But there is one

indisputable fact, which is, that you suffer, my brother, you suffer

cruelly; it is for us to bind up your wounds, my tender brother, it is

for us to comfort them with balm and honey."

At these words the canon made an involuntary grimace, because, in his

gastronomic monomania, the idea of honey and balm was especially

distasteful.

The abbé continued:

"Let us see, my dear brother, let us return to the cause of all your

ills."

"Alas! abbé, it is the loss of my appetite."

"Be it so, my brother, and who has caused the loss of your appetite?"

"That wretch!" cried the canon, irritated, "that infamous Captain

Horace."

"That is true; well, I will always preach to you the forgiveness of

injuries, my dear brother; but, too, I must recommend to you an

inexorable severity against sacrilege."

"What sacrilege, abbé?"

"Have not Captain Horace and one of his sailors dared to leap over the

sacred walls of the convent where you had shut up your niece? Have they

not had the audacity to carry away the miserable girl, whom happily we

have recaptured? This enormity in other times might have been punished

with fire, and one day it will be punished with eternal fire."

"And this villain of a captain will only have what he deserves," cried

Dom Diégo, ferociously; "yes, he will cook--he will roast on Satan's

spit by a slow fire, all eternity, where he will be moistened with gravy

of melted lead, after having been larded with red-hot iron. Such will be

his punishment, I earnestly hope."

"So may it be, but while waiting this eternal expiation, why not punish

him here below? Why have you had the culpable weakness to give up your

demand for the arrest of this miscreant? I need not remind you that this

man is the first cause of all that you call your ills,--that is, the

loss of your appetite."

"That is true, he is a great criminal."

"Then, my brother, why, I ask again, have you been so weak as to

renounce your pursuit of him? You do not reply, you seem to be

embarrassed."

"It is that--"

"It is what?"

"Alas, abbé, you are going to scold me, to lecture me again."

"Explain yourself, my brother."

"What shall I say? It is his fault, for, since he has disappeared, all

my thoughts come from him and return to him."

"Who, he?"

"This angel or this demon."

"What angel--what demon?"

"The cook."

"Again the cook?"

"Always!"

"Come," said the abbé, shrugging his shoulders, "do explain yourself, my

brother."

"Well, then, abbé, know that the day after the fatal day when I

breakfasted as I shall never breakfast again, alas! when my despair was

at its height, I received a mysterious note."

"And what did this contain, my brother?"

"Here it is."

"You have kept it."

"It is perhaps his cherished handwriting," murmured the canon, with a

melancholy accent.

And he handed the note to Abbé Ledoux, who read as follows:

* * * * *

"MY LORD CANON:--There remains perhaps one means of seeing me again.

"You now know the delights with which I am able to surfeit you.

"You also know the terrible torments which my absence inflicts.

"Before yesterday, not having felt these torments in all their anguish,

you presumed to refuse what I expected of you.

"To-day, as past sufferings will be a guarantee for the sufferings to

come, listen to me.

"You can put an end to these sufferings.

"For that, you must grant me three things.

"I demand the first to-day; in eight days the second; in fifteen days

the third.

"I proportion the importance of my demands to the progress of your

suffering, because the more you suffer, the more you will regret me and

show yourself docile.

"Here is my first demand:

"Send back by the bearer of this note, your nonsuit of all complaint

against Captain Horace.

"Give me by this act a proof of your desire to satisfy me, and then you

will be able to hope that you may find again

APPETITE."

CHAPTER X.

When Abbé Ledoux had finished reading this note, he reflected a moment

in silence, while the canon, repeating the last words of the letter,

said, bitterly:

"'And you will be able to hope to find Appetite!' What cruel irony in

this pitiless pun!"

"That is singular," said the abbé, thoughtfully. "Did you see the bearer

of this note, Dom Diégo?"

"Did I see him? Could I lose this opportunity to speak of _him?"_

"Well?"

"Ah, well, one would have thought I was speaking Hebrew to this animal.

To my most pressing questions, he responded with a stupid air. I was not

able to draw from him either the address or the name of the person who

had sent me the note."

"And so, canon, it is in obedience to this letter that you have

renounced your complaint against this renegade Captain Horace."

"Yes, because I hoped, by my deference to the desires of him who holds

my life in his hands, to soften his heart of stone, but alas! this

concession has not touched him."

"But what relations can exist between this accursed cook and Captain

Horace?" said Abbé Ledoux, still absorbed in thought. "Some intrigue is

hidden there."

Then after another silence he added:

"Dom Diégo, listen to me; I will not tell you to abandon the hope that

some day you may have in your service this cook whom you prize so

highly. I shall not insist upon the dangers which threaten your eternal

salvation in consequence of your persistent and abominable gluttony; you

are at this moment in such a state of excitement that you would not

comprehend it."

"I fear so, abbé"

"I am sure of it, canon. I will deal then with you as we deal, permit me

to say it, with monomaniacs. I will for the present put myself in your

place, extraordinary as it may seem, and I must tell you that you have

done exactly the contrary of what you ought to have done, if you wish to

gain power over this man, who, as you say, controls your destiny."

"Explain yourself, my dear abbé."

"After all you have confided to me, evidently this cook has no need of a

position; having learned of your favourite vice, he has only sought a

pretext for introducing himself into your house; his connivance with

Captain Horace only proves, do you not see, that their plan was arranged

beforehand, and they proposed to use your love of eating as a means of

gaining influence over you."

"Great God!" cried Dom Diégo, "that is a ray of light!"

"Do you confess your blindness now?"

"What an infernal plot! What atrocious Machiavellism!" murmured the

canon, thoroughly frightened.

Then he added, with a sigh of dejection, full of bitterness:

"Such dissimulation! Such perfidy united to such beautiful genius! Oh,

humanity! Oh, humanity!"

"Let me continue," replied the abbé. "You have already, by your unworthy

weakness, deprived yourself of one of the three means by which you might

have controlled this great cook, since, as he has had the effrontery to

warn you beforehand, there are yet two others he intends to exact from

you, and he counts on your deplorable readiness to yield, to obtain

them. Now, this end once attained, he will laugh at you, and you will

see him no more."

"Abbé, that is impossible."

"Why?"

"I tell you, abbé, such treason is impossible. You surely do not believe

that men are ferocious beasts,--monsters."

"I believe, canon," replied the abbé, with a shrug of the shoulders, "I

believe that a cook who gives gratis wines at one or two louis a

bottle--"

"Wait, pray," interrupted Dom Diégo. "Neither one, nor two, nor six

louis would pay the cost of such wines. They were nectar, abbé, they

were ambrosia, I tell you!"

"All the more reason, canon; a cook who is so prodigal of such costly

ambrosia has no need of hiring himself for wages, I imagine."

"I not only offered him wages, I offered him, also, my

friendship,--think of it, abbé, I said to this perfidious monster,

'Friend, I will not be your master, I will be your admirer.'"

"You see that he cared as little for your friendship as for your

admiration."

"Ah, that would be an ingrate, indeed!"

"That may be; but if you wish, in your turn, to put this ingrate at your

feet, there is a way for you to do so."

"To put him at my feet! Oh, abbé, if you could work this miracle! but,

no, no, you are without pity, you play upon my credulity."

"The miracle is very simple; refuse absolutely all that this man demands

of you, because if he has no need of your friendship or your admiration,

he has evidently great need of your leaving off your suit against this

Captain Horace. Refuse that, and you will hold your man. I do not know

for how long a time you will hold him, but you will hold him. We will

see afterward how to prolong your power. I am, you see, a man of wise

counsel."

"Abbé, you open my eyes, you are right; in refusing his demands, I shall

force him to return to me."

"Well, do you agree to it?"

"I was blind, silly! But what do you want, abbé? Despair, inanition! The

stomach reacts so terribly on the brain. Ah, why was I so weak as to

sign this nonsuit?"

"It is time to recall it."

"You think so, abbé?"

"I am certain of it. I know persons who are very influential with the

magistracy."

"What an opportunity, abbé, what an opportunity!"

"We have friends everywhere. Now, listen to what is necessary for you to

do. You go at once and present your complaint in legal form; we will

attest it immediately at the bar of the king's attorney. We will say to

him that the other day when you were in a condition of suffering and

wholly irresponsible, you signed the nonsuit, but reflecting upon the

sacrilegious crime of Captain Horace, you would fail in your double

character of canon and guardian if you did not deliver this criminal to

the rigour of the law. Begin by this act of decision and you will soon

see this insolent cook, who dictates his orders to you, humble and

submissive to your will."

"Abbé, dear abbé, you have saved my life."

"Wait, that is not all. This mysterious unknown, who interests himself

so much in Captain Horace, must also interest himself in the captain's

marriage with your niece. Evidently this intrigue concerns that,

because, understand me, I wager a hundred to one that one of the two

things which this impertinent cook reserves to ask of you is your

consent to this marriage."

"What a depth of villainy!" cried the canon. "What diabolical plotting!

There is no longer room for doubt, abbé, such was the plan of this

miserable creature. Oh, if in my turn I could only get him in my power!"

"The way is very easy, and whatever may be the cause of it, after the

various ramifications of this dark intrigue, of which your niece is the

end, you must see that there would be grave dangers in leaving her in

Paris, and whatever course you may take in regard to this--"

"She shall enter a convent," interrupted the canon, "that is my

intention at all hazards; she has already caused me enough worry, enough

care. I do not like to play the rôle of a guardian in a comedy."

"Your niece, then, will enter a convent; but to leave her in Paris is to

expose her to the plotting of Captain Horace and his friends, and you

know their audacity. Perhaps they will abduct her a second time. Imagine

what new sorrow that would bring to you."

"But where shall I send this accursed girl?"

"Let her depart for Lyons to-day, even; we have an excellent house in

that city, once entered there it would be impossible for her to

communicate with the outside. Now, see what we are going to do. The

first thing is to go at once to the Palais de Justice; there I shall

find an influential person who will recommend me to the king's attorney,

in whose hands you will lodge your complaint. After that we will hasten

to the convent; among the livery hacks there is always a carriage ready

for an emergency; one of our sisters and a steady and resolute man will

accompany your niece; you will give your orders to them; in two hours

she will be on the route to Lyons, and before the end of the day Captain

Horace will be locked in jail, because, as he believes your complaint is

withdrawn, he will come out of the retreat which we have not been able

to discover. Once this miscreant arrested, and your niece out of Paris,

you will see my Lord Appetite run to you, and with a little address--I

will help you if you wish it--you will have him at your mercy, and can

do with him as you please."

"Dear abbé, you are my saviour!" cried the canon, rising from his seat,

his face radiant with hope. "You are a superior man; Father Benoit told

me so in Cadiz. Let us go, let us go. I abandon myself blindly to your

counsels; everything tells me they are excellent, and that they will

place him, who is an angel and a demon to me, in my power for ever."

"Let us go, then, my dear Dom Diégo," said the abbé, hastily putting on

his hat, and dragging the canon by the arm.

The moment the canon opened the door of the parlour, he found himself

face to face with Doctor Gasterini, who familiarly entered the saintly

man's house without announcement.

The abbé was just going to address a word to the doctor, when at a cry

from the canon he turned abruptly and saw Dom Diégo, pale, motionless,

his gaze fixed, and his hands clasped, and his face expressing all the

contradictions of stupor, doubt, anguish, and hope. Finally, addressing

the abbé, who comprehended nothing of this sudden emotion, the canon

pointed to the doctor and stammered, in a broken voice, "It--is--he."

But Dom Diégo was not able to say more, and overcome by emotion he sat

down heavily in a chair, closed his eyes, and fell over in utter

weakness.

"The devil! the canon here!" said Doctor Gasterini to himself. "Cursed

accident!"

Abbé Ledoux, at the sight of Dom Diégo's collapse,--a pathetic

picture,--turned to the doctor, and said:

"I think, really, the canon must be ill. What is the matter with him?

Your arrival is fortunate, my dear doctor; wait,--here is a vial of

salts, it will assist his breathing."

Hardly was the bottle placed to the nostrils of the canon when he

sneezed violently, with a cavernous bellowing, then coming out of his

fainting fit, but not having the strength to rise, he turned his languid

eyes, suffused with tears, to the doctor, and said, with an accent which

he wished to be stern, but which was only tender:

"Ah, cruel man!"

"Cruel!" said the abbé, bewildered, "why do you call the doctor cruel,

Dom Diégo?"

"Yes," interposed the physician, perfectly calm and smiling, "what

cruelty can you accuse me of, sir?"

"You ask that, you ingrate!" said the canon. "You dare ask that!"

"What! you call the doctor an ingrate!" said the abbé.

"The doctor!" said the canon, "what doctor?"

"Why, my friend, the man to whom you are speaking," said the abbé, "my

friend standing there, Doctor Gasterini."

"He!" cried the canon, rising abruptly. "I tell you that is my tempter,

my seducer!"

"The devil! he sees him everywhere," said the abbé, impatiently. "I

repeat it to you that the gentleman is Doctor Gasterini, my friend."

"And I repeat to you, abbé," cried Dom Diégo, "that the gentleman is the

great cook of whom I have spoken to you!"

"Doctor," said the abbé, earnestly, "in the name of Heaven, do explain

this blunder."

"There is no blunder at all, my dear abbé."

"What?"

"The canon speaks the truth," replied Doctor Gasterini. "Day before

yesterday I had the pleasure of preparing a dish for him; for, in order

to have the honour of calling yourself a glutton, you must have a

practical acquaintance with the culinary art."

CHAPTER XI.

The abbé, amazed, looked at Doctor Gasterini, unable to believe what he

had heard; at last he said:

"What! you, doctor, have cooked dishes for Dom Diégo? You! you?"

"Yes, I, my dear abbé."

"A doctor," exclaimed the canon, in his turn amazed, "a physician?"

"Yes, canon," replied Doctor Gasterini, "I am a physician, which does

not prevent my being a passable cook."

"Passable!" cried the canon, "say rather, divine! But what means this--"

"I comprehend all!" replied Abbé Ledoux, after having remained silent

and thoughtful a moment, "the plot was skilfully contrived."

"What is it that you comprehend, abbé? Of what plot are you talking?"

said the canon, who, after his first astonishment, began to wonder how a

physician could be such an extraordinary cook. "I pray you explain

yourself, abbé!"

"Do you know, Dom Diégo," asked the abbé, with a bitter smile, "who

Doctor Gasterini is?"

"But," stammered the canon, wiping the perspiration from his brow, for

he had been making superhuman efforts to penetrate the mystery,

"everything is so complicated--so strange--that--"

"Doctor Gasterini," cried the abbé, "is the uncle of Captain Horace! Do

you understand now, Dom Diégo, the diabolical trick the doctor has

played you? Do you understand that he has played upon your deplorable

gluttony in order to get such a hold on you that he might induce you to

abandon your pursuit of Captain Horace, his nephew, and afterward to

induce you to consent to the marriage of your niece and the captain? Do

you understand at last to what point you have been duped? Do you see the

depth of the abyss you have escaped?"

"My God! this great cook a doctor! And he is the uncle of Captain

Horace!" murmured the canon, stunned by the revelation. "He is not a

real cook! Oh, illusion of illusions!"

The doctor remained silent and imperturbable.

"Hey, have you been duped enough?" asked the abbé. "Have you played a

sufficiently ridiculous rôle? And do you now believe that the

illustrious Doctor Gasterini, one of the princes of science, who has

fifty thousand a year income, would hire himself to you as a cook? Was I

wrong in saying that you had been made a scoff and jeer for other

persons' amusement?"

Every word from the abbé exasperated the anger, the grief, and the

despair of the canon. The last remark above all. "Do you think the

celebrated Doctor Gasterini would hire himself for wages," gave a mortal

blow to the last illusions that Dom Diégo cherished. Turning to the

doctor, he said, with an ill-concealed anger:

"Ah, sir, do you recollect the evil you have done me? I may die of it,

perhaps, but I will have my revenge, if not on you, at least on that

rascal, your nephew, and on my unworthy niece, who, no doubt, is also in

this abominable intrigue!"

"Well, courage, Dom Diégo; this righteous vengeance will not tarry,"

said Abbé Ledoux.

Then he turned to the doctor, and said, sarcastically:

"Ah, doctor, you are doubtless a very shrewd, clever man, but you know

the best players sometimes lose the best games, and you will lose this

one!"

"Perhaps," said the doctor, smiling; "who knows?"

"Come, my dear abbé, come," cried the canon, pale and exasperated;

"come, let us see the king's attorney, and then we will hasten the

departure of my niece."

And, turning to the doctor, he said:

"To employ arms so perfidious, so disloyal! to deceive a confiding and

inoffensive man with this odious Machiavellism! I who have eaten with my

eyes shut, I who have taken delight upon the very brink of an abyss! Ah,

sir, it is abominable, but I will have my revenge!"

"And this very instant," said the abbé. "Come, Dom Diégo, follow me. A

thousand pardons, my dear doctor, to leave you so abruptly, but you

understand moments are precious."

The canon, boiling with rage, was about to follow the abbé when Doctor

Gasterini said, in a calm voice:

"Canon, a word if you please."

"If you listen to him, you are lost, Dom Diégo!" cried the abbé,

dragging the canon with him. "The evil spirit himself is not more

insidious than this infernal doctor. Decide for yourself after the trick

he has played on you. Come, come!"

"Canon," said the doctor, seizing Dom Diégo by the right sleeve, while

the abbé, who held the worthy man by the left sleeve, was using every

effort to force him to follow him. "Canon," repeated the doctor, "just

one word, I pray you."

"No, no!" said the abbé, "let us flee, Dom Diégo, let us flee this

serpent tempter."

And the abbé continued to pull the canon by his right sleeve.

"Just a word," said the physician, "and you will see how much this dear

abbé deceives you in my place."

"The Abbé Ledoux deceives me in your place! That is too much by far!"

cried Dom Diégo. "How, sir, do you dare?"

"I am going to prove to you what I say, canon," said the doctor,

earnestly, as he saw Dom Diégo make an effort to approach him. The

abbé, suspecting the canon's weakness, pulled him violently, and said:

"Recollect, unhappy man, that your mother Eve was lost by listening to

the first word of Satan. I adjure you, I command you, to follow me this

instant! If you give way, unhappy man, take care! One second more, and

it is all up with you. Let us go, let us go!"

"Yes, yes, you are my saviour, take me away from here," stammered the

canon, disengaging himself from the grasp of the doctor. "In spite of

myself, I am already yielding to the incomprehensible influence of this

demon. I recall those Guinea fowl eggs with crab gravy, that trout with

frozen Montpellier butter, that celestial roast à la Sardanapalus, and

already a dim hope--let us fly, abbé, it is time, let us fly."

"Canon," said the doctor, holding on to the arm of Dom Diégo with all

his strength, "listen to me, I pray you."

"_Vade retro, Satanas!_" cried Dom Diégo, with horror, escaping from the

doctor's hands.

And dragged along by the abbé, he was on the threshold of the door, when

the physician cried:

"I will cook for you as much as you desire, and as long as I shall live,

Dom Diégo. Grant me five minutes, and I will prove what I declare. Five

minutes, what do you risk?"

At the magic words, "I will cook for you as much as you desire," the

canon seemed nailed to the door-sill, and did not advance a step, in

spite of the efforts of the abbé, who was too exhausted to struggle

against the weight of such a large man.

"You certainly are stupid!" cried the abbé, losing control of himself,

"what a fool you are to have any dealings with him!"

"Grant me five minutes, Dom Diégo," urged the doctor, "and, if I do not

convince you of the reality of my promises, then give free course to

your vengeance. I repeat, what do you risk? I only ask a poor five

minutes."

"In fact," said the canon, turning to the abbé, "what would I risk?"

"Go, you risk nothing!" cried the abbé, pushed to the extreme by the

weakness of the canon; "from this moment you are lost, a scoff and a

jeer. Go, go, throw yourself into the jaws of this monster, thrice dull

brute that you are!"

These unfortunate words, uttered by the abbé in anger, wounded the pride

of Dom Diégo to the quick, and he replied, with an offended air:

"At least, I will not be brute enough, Abbé Ledoux, to hesitate between

the loss of five minutes, and the ruin of my hopes, as weak as they may

be."

"As you please, Dom Diégo," replied the abbé, gnawing his nails with

anger; "you are a good, greasy dupe to experiment upon. Really, I am

ashamed of having pitied you."

"Not such a dupe, Abbé Ledoux, not such a dupe as you may suppose," said

the canon, in a self-sufficient tone. "You are going to discover, and

the doctor, too, for no doubt he is going to explain himself."

"At once," eagerly replied the doctor, "at once, my lord canon, and very

clearly too, very categorically."

"Let us see," said Dom Diégo, swelling cheeks with an important air.

"You discover, sir, that I have now powerful reasons for not allowing

myself to be satisfied with chimeras, because, as the abbé has said, I

would be a good, greasy dupe to permit you to deceive me, after so many

cautions."

"Oh, certainly," said the abbé, in his great indignation, "you are a

proud man, canon, and quite capable of fighting this son of Beelzebub."

"By which title you mean me, dear abbé," said the doctor, with sardonic

courtesy. "What an ingrate you are! I come to remind you that you

promised to dine with me to-day. Permit my lord canon, also,--he is not

a stranger to our subject, as you will see."

"Yes, doctor," said the abbé, "I did make you this promise, but--"

"You will keep it, I do not doubt, and I will remind you, too, that this

invitation was extended in consequence of a little discussion relative

to the seven capital sins. Again, canon, I am in the question, and you

are going to recognise it immediately."

"It is true, doctor," replied the abbé, with a constrained smile, "I

would brand, as they deserve to be, the seven capital sins, causes of

eternal damnation to the miserable beings who abandon themselves to

these abominable vices, and in your passion for paradoxes, you have

dared maintain that--"

"That the seven capital sins have good, in a certain point of view, in a

certain measure, and gluttony, particularly, may be made an admirable

passion."

"Gluttony!" cried the canon, amazed. "Gluttony admirable!"

"Admirable, my dear canon," replied the doctor, "and that, too, in the

eyes of the wisest, and most sincerely religious men."

"Gluttony!" repeated the canon, who had listened to the physician with

increasing bewilderment, "gluttony!"

"It is even more, my lord canon," said the doctor, solemnly, "because,

for those who are to put it in practice, it becomes an imperious duty to

humanity."

"A duty to humanity!" repeated Dom Diégo.

"And, above all, a question of high civilisation and great policy, my

lord canon," added the doctor, with an air so serious, so full of

conviction, that he imposed on the canon, who cried:

"Hold, doctor, if you could only demonstrate that--"

"Do you not see that the doctor is making you ridiculous?" said the

abbé, shrugging his shoulders. "Ah, I told you the truth, unhappy Dom

Diégo; you are lost, for ever lost, as soon as you consent to listen to

such foolery."

"Canon," the doctor hastened to add, "let us resume our subject, not by

reasoning, which, I confess, may appear to you specious, but by facts,

by acts, by proofs, and by figures. You are both a glutton and

superstitious. You have not the strength to resist your craving for good

things; then, your gluttony satisfied, you are afraid of having

committed a great sin, which sometimes spoils the pleasure of good

cheer, and above all, injures the calmness and regularity of your

digestion. Is this not true?"

"It is true," meekly replied the canon, dominated, fascinated by the

doctor's words, "it is too true."

"Well, my lord canon, I wish to convince you, I repeat, not by

reasoning, however logical it may be, but by visible, palpable facts and

by figures, first, that in being a glutton, you accomplish a mission

highly philanthropic, a benefit to civilisation and politics; second,

that I can, and will be able to make you eat and drink, when you wish,

with far more intense enjoyment than the other day."

"And I, I say to you," cried the abbé, appalled by the doctor's

assurance, "that if you prove by facts and figures, as you pretend, that

to be a glutton is to accomplish a mission to humanity or high

civilisation, or is a thing of great political significance, I swear to

you to become an adept in this philosophy, as absurd and visionary as it

appears."

"And if you prove to me, doctor, that you can open again, and in the

future continue to open the doors of the culinary paradise that you

opened to me day before yesterday," cried the canon, palpitating with

new hope, "if you prove to me that I accomplish a social duty in

yielding myself up to gluttony, you will be able to dominate me, I will

be your deputy, your slave, your thing."

"Agreed, my lord canon, agreed, Abbé Ledoux, you shall be satisfied. Let

us depart."

"Depart?" asked the canon, "where?"

"To my house, Dom Diégo."

"To your house," said the canon, with an air of distrust, "to your

house?"

"My carriage is below," replied the doctor; "in a quarter of an hour we

will arrive there."

"But, doctor," asked the canon, "why go to your house? What are we going

to do there?"

"At my house, only, will you be able to find those visible, palpable

proofs of what I have declared, for I have come to remind the dear abbé

that to-day is the twentieth of November, the day of the investigation

to which I have invited him. But the hour advances, gentlemen, let us

depart."

"I do not know if I am dreaming or awake," said Dom Diégo, "but I throw

myself in the gulf with my eyes shut."

"You must be the very devil himself, doctor, for my instinct and reason

revolt against your paradoxes. I do not believe one word of your

promises, yet it is impossible for me to resist the curious desire to

accompany you."

The canon and the abbé followed the doctor, entered his carriage with

him, and soon the three arrived at the house occupied by the

distinguished physician.

CHAPTER XII.

Doctor Gasterini lived in a charming house in the Faubourg du Roule,

where he soon arrived in company with the canon and Abbé Ledoux.

"While we are waiting for dinner, would you like to take a turn in the

garden?" said the doctor, to his guests. "That will give me the

opportunity to present to you my poor sister's eight children, my

nephews and nieces, whom I have reared and established in the world

respectably, entirely by means of gluttony. You see, canon, we still

follow our subject."

"What, doctor!" replied the canon, "you have reared a numerous family by

means of gluttony?"

"You do not see that the doctor continues to ridicule you!" said the

abbé, shrugging his shoulders. "It is too much by far!"

"I give you my word of honour as an honest man," replied Doctor

Gasterini, "and besides, I am going to prove to you in a moment, by

facts, that if I had not been the greatest gourmand among men, I should

never have known how to make for each one of my nephews and nieces the

excellent positions which they hold, as worthy, honest, and intelligent

labourers, contributing, each in his sphere, to the prosperity of the

country."

"So we are really to see people who contribute to the prosperity of the

country, and for that we may thank the doctor's love of eating!" said

the canon, with amazement.

"No," cried the abbé, "what confounds me is to hear such absurdities

maintained till the last moment, and--" but suddenly interrupting

himself, he asked with surprise, as he looked around:

"What is that building, doctor? It looks like shops."

"That is my orangery," replied the doctor, "and to-day, as every year at

this time, my birthday, they set up shops here."

"How is that; set up shops, and what for?" asked the abbé.

"Zounds! why, to sell, of course, my dear abbé."

"Sell what? and who is to sell?"

"As to what is sold, you will soon see, and as to the purchasers, why,

they are my patrons, who are coming to spend the evening here."

"Really, doctor, I do not comprehend you."

"You know, my dear abbé, that for a long time charity shops have been

kept by some of the prettiest women in Paris."

"Ah, yes," replied the abbé; "the proceeds to be given to the poor."

"This is the same; the proceeds of this evening's sale will be

distributed among the poor of my district."

"And who are to keep these shops?" asked the canon.

"My sister's eight children, Dom Diégo. They will sell there, for the

charitable purpose I have mentioned, the produce of their own industry.

But come, gentlemen, let us enter, and I shall have the honour of

introducing to you my nieces and nephews."

With these words Doctor Gasterini conducted his friends into a vast

orangery, where were arranged eight little shops or stalls for the

display of wares. The green boxes of a large number of gigantic

orange-trees formed the railings and separations of these stalls, so

that each one had a ceiling of beautiful foliage.

"Ah, doctor," exclaimed the canon, stopping before the first stall in

admiration, "this is magnificent! I have never seen anything like it in

my life. It is magic!"

"It is indeed a feast for the eye," said the abbé. "It is unsurpassed."

Let us see what elicited the just admiration of Doctor Gasterini's

guests. The boxes forming the enclosure of the first stall were

ornamented with leaves and flowers; on each of these rustic platforms,

covered with moss, a collection of fruits and early vegetables was

displayed with rare beauty. Golden pineapples with crowns of green lay

above immense baskets of grapes of every shade, from the dark purple

cluster of the valley to the transparent red from the mountain

vineyards. Pyramids of pears, and apples of the rarest and choicest

species, of enormous size and variegated with the brightest colours,

reached up to summits of bananas, as golden as if the sun of the tropics

had ripened them. Farther on dwarf fig-trees in pots, and covered with

violet-coloured figs, stood among a rare collection of autumn melons,

Brazil pumpkins, and Spanish and white potatoes. Still farther, little

rush baskets of hothouse strawberries contrasted with rosy mushrooms,

and enormous truffles as black as ebony, obtained from the hotbed by

special culture. Then came the rare and early specimens of the

season,--green asparagus and varieties of lettuce.

In the midst of these marvels of the vegetable kingdom, which she

herself had grouped in such a charming and picturesque scene, stood a

beautiful young woman, elegantly attired in the costume of the peasants

living in the neighbourhood of Paris.

"I present to you one of my nieces," said the doctor to his guests,

"Juliette Dumont, cultivator of early fruits and vegetables, in the open

field and hothouse at Montreuil-sous-Bois."

Then, turning to the young woman, the doctor added:

"My child, tell these gentlemen, please, how many gardeners you and your

husband employ in your occupation."

"At least twenty men the whole time, my dear uncle."

"And their salary, my child."

"According to your advice, dear uncle, we give them the fixed price of

fifty cents, and a part of our profit, in order to interest them as much

as we are in the excellence of the work. We find this arrangement the

best in the world, for our gardeners, interested as much as ourselves in

the prosperity of our undertaking, labour with great zeal. So this year,

their part in the income of the establishment has almost amounted to

five francs a day."

"And about how much a year is the whole income, my child?"

"Thanks to our nurseries of fine fruit-trees, we make, dear uncle, from

eighty to a hundred thousand francs a year."

"As much as that?" said the abbé.

"Yes, sir," replied the young woman; "and there are many houses in the

neighbourhood of Paris and in the provinces whose incomes are larger

than ours."

The canon, absorbed in the contemplation of fragrant golden fruits,

truffles, and mushrooms, and the first vegetables of the season as

luscious as they were rare, gave only a distracted attention to the

economics of the conversation, and reluctantly accepted the doctor's

invitation, who said to him:

"Let us pass to another specimen of the industry of my family, canon,

for each one to-day displays his best wares. Now tell me if that jolly

fellow over there is not a true artist."

And with these words Doctor Gasterini pointed out the second stall to

his guests.

In the middle of an enclosure, carpeted with rushes and seaweeds, three

large, white marble tables rose one above the other at an interval of

one foot, gradually diminishing in size, like the basins of a fountain.

On these marble slabs, covered with marine herbs, was a fine display of

shells, crustaceans, and the choicest and most delicate sea-fish.

On the first slab was a sort of grotto made of shell-work, in which

could be seen mussels and oysters from Marennes, Ostend, and Cancale,

fattened at an immense expense in the parks. At the base of this slab

lobsters, shrimps, and crabs were slowly crawling, or putting out a

feeler from under their thick shells.

On the second slab, fringed with long seaweeds of a light green colour,

were fish of the most diminutive size and exquisite flavour; sardines

gleaming like silver, others of ultramarine blue, others still of bright

red, and dainty grill fish with backs as white as snow, and

rose-coloured bellies.

Finally, on the last and largest of these marble basins lay, here and

there, veritable monsters of the sea, enormous turbots, gigantic salmon,

formidable sturgeons, and prodigious tunnies.

A young man with sunburnt complexion, and frank, prepossessing

countenance, who recalled the features of Captain Horace, smiled

complaisantly at this magnificent exhibition of the products of the sea.

"Gentlemen, I present to you my nephew Thomas, patron of fisheries at

Etretat," said Doctor Gasterini to his guests, "and you see that his

nets do not bring back sand alone."

"I never saw anything in my life more admirable! I never saw more

appetising fish!" exclaimed Dom Diégo, with enthusiasm. "One could

almost eat them raw!"

"My boy," said Doctor Gasterini to his nephew, "these gentlemen would

like to know how many sailors you patron fishers employ in your boats."

"Each boat employs eight or ten men and a cabin-boy," replied patron

Thomas. "You see, my dear uncle, that makes quite a fine array of men,

when you think of the number of fishing-boats on the coasts of France,

from Bayonne to Dunkerque, and from Perpignan to Cannes."

"And what pay do these men get, my boy?" asked the doctor.

"We buy boats and nets in common, and divide the produce of the fish,

and when a sailor is carried away by a big wave, his widow and children

succeed to the father's portion; in a word, we work in an association,

all for each, and each for all, and I assure you that when it is

necessary to throw our nets or draw them in, to furl a sail or give it

to the winds, there is no idler among us. All work with a good heart."

"Very well, my brave boy," said the doctor. "But, my lord canon," added

he, turning to Dom Diégo, "as a true gourmand, you shall taste scalloped

salmon with truffles, and sole minced in the Venetian style. Here we

promote one of the noblest industries of the country, and it also

contributes to the amelioration of the condition of our marine service.

Let this thought, canon, take possession of your mind when you eat

sturgeon baked in its own liquor, flavoured highly with Bayonne ham and

oyster sauce, mingled with Madeira wine!"

At these words, Dom Diégo opened mechanically his large mouth and shut

it, passing his tongue over his lips, with a sigh of greedy desire.

Abbé Ledoux, too discerning not to comprehend the doctor's intention,

betrayed increasing resentment, but did not utter a word. The physician

affected not to perceive the vexation of his guest. Taking Dom Diégo by

the arm, he said, as he conducted him to the third stall:

"Honestly, my lord canon, did you ever see anything more beautiful, more

charming, than this?"

"Never, oh, never!" exclaimed Dom Diégo, clasping his hands in

admiration, "although the confections of my country are considered the

finest in the world."

Nor was there, indeed, anything more captivating or more beautiful than

this third stall, where was displayed in cups or porcelain dishes

everything that the most refined epicureans could imagine in preserves,

confections, and sweetmeats. In one place, crystallised sugar enveloped

sparkling stalactites of the most beautiful fruits; in another, pyramids

of all kinds, variegated with the brightest colours,--red with lozenges

of rose, green with frozen pistachios shading into tints of lemon;

farther on, oranges, limes, cedras, all covered with a snowy coating of

sugar. Again, transparent jellies, made from Rouen apples, and currant

jellies from Bar, shone with the prismatic brilliancy of ruby and topaz.

Still farther, wide slabs of nougat from Marseilles, white as fresh

cream, served as pedestals for columns of chocolate made in Bayonne, and

apricot paste from Montpellier. Boxes of preserved fruit from Touraine,

as fresh as if they had just been gathered, and in their gorgeous

colouring resembling Florentine mosaics, charmed the eyes of the

beholder.

A young and pretty woman, a niece of Dr. Gasterini, presided at this

exhibition of sweets, and welcomed her uncle with an amiable smile.

"I present to you, gentlemen, my niece Augustine, one of the first

confectioners in Paris, a true artist, who carves and paints in sugar,

and her masterpieces are literally the crack dainties of Paris; but this

specimen of her ability is nothing: in about a fortnight her shop on

Vivienne Street will show a fine display, and I am sure you will see

there some marvellous productions of her skill."

"Certainly, my dear uncle," replied the smiling mistress of the stall,

"we will have the newest sweetmeats, the richest boxes, the most

cleverly woven baskets of dainties, and the prettiest little bags, and

for all these accessories we have a workshop where we employ thirty

artisans, without counting, you understand, all the persons engaged in

the laboratory."

"What is the matter with you, my dear abbé?" asked the doctor of this

saintly man. "You seem to be quite gloomy. Are you vexed to see that

gluttony controls all sorts of industries and productions which count

for so much in the commercial progress of France? Zounds, man, you have

not reached the end yet!"

"Well, well," replied the abbé, under constraint, "I see what you are

coming to, you wicked man, but I will have a response for all. Go on, go

on, I do not say a word, but I do not think the less."

"I am at your service for discussion, my dear abbé, but in the

meanwhile, my lord canon," continued the doctor, turning to Dom Diégo,

"you ought to be already partially convinced, since you see that you

can, without remorse, enjoy the rarest fruits, the most delicate fish,

and the most delicious sweetmeats. And more, as I have told you before,

since you are a rich man, the consumption of these dainties is for you

an imperative social duty, for the more you consume the greater impetus

you give to production."

"And I realise that in my specialty I am at the height of this noble and

patriotic mission!" exclaimed the canon, with enthusiasm. "You give me,

dear doctor, the consciousness of duty performed."

"I did not expect less from the loftiness of your soul, my lord canon,"

replied the physician, "but a day will come when this kind mission of

consumer that you accept with such proud interest will be more generally

disseminated, and we will talk of that another time, but before passing

on to the next stall I must ask your indulgence for my poor nephew

Leonard, who presides at the exhibition you are going to see."

"Why my indulgence, doctor?"

"Because, you see, my nephew Leonard follows a rather dangerous calling,

but he has followed the bent of his inclination. This devil of a boy has

been reared like a savage. Put to nurse with a peasant woman living on

the frontier of the forest of Sénart, he was so puny for a long time

that I allowed him to remain in the country until he was twelve years

old. The peasant woman's husband was an arrant poacher, and my nephew

had his bump for the chase as well developed as a hunting hound. You can

judge what his bloodhound propensities would become under the tutelage

of such a foster-parent. At the age of six years, sickly as he was,

Leonard passed the whole day in the woods, busy with traps for rabbits,

hares, and pheasants. At ten years the little man inaugurated his career

as a hunter by killing a superb roebuck, one winter night, by the light

of the moon. I was ignorant of all that. When, however, he was twelve

years old, he seemed to have grown strong enough, and I placed him at

school. Three days after, he scaled the walls which surrounded the

boarding-school and returned to the forest of Sénart. In a word, canon,

nothing has been able to conquer the boy's passion for hunting. And,

unfortunately, I confess that I became an accomplice by making him a

present of a newly invented gun, so perfect and handy that it would make

of you, my dear abbé, as accomplished a hunter as my nephew. He is not

alone. Thousands of families live upon the superfluous game of rich

proprietors who hunt, not from necessity, but because they find it an

amusement. So, my lord canon, in tasting a leg of jerked venison, a hash

of young partridge, or a thigh of roasted pheasant,--I could not do you

the wrong of supposing you would prefer the wing,--you can assure

yourself that you are contributing to the support of a number of poor

households."

CHAPTER XIII.

The doctor, having concluded his eulogy upon the chase, approached his

nephew's stall, and, with a significant gesture, pointed out to the

canon and the abbé the finest exhibition of game that could be imagined.

The English gamekeepers, great masters of the art of grouping game, thus

making real pictures of dead nature, would have recognised the

superiority of Leonard.

Imagine a knotty, umbrageous tree six or seven feet high, standing in

the middle of this stall. At the foot of the tree were grouped, on a bed

of bright green fern, a young wild boar, a magnificent fallow deer, two

years old, the proper age for venison, and two fine roebucks. These

animals were lying in a restful position, the head gently bent over the

shoulder, as if they were in their accustomed haunts in the depths of

the forest. Long flexible branches of ivy fell from the lower boughs of

the tree, among whose glossy leaves could be seen hares and rabbits,

alternating with the wild geese of ashen-gray colour, wild ducks with

green heads and feathers tipped with white, pheasants with scarlet eyes

and necks of changeable blue and plumage shining like burnished copper;

and silver-coloured bustards, a bird of passage quite rare in our

climate. Here and there, branches of holly with purple berries, and the

rosy bloom of heather mingled gracefully with the game disposed at

different heights. Then came groups of woodcocks, gray partridges, red

partridges, gold-coloured plovers, water-hens as black as ebony, with

yellow beaks; upon the highest boughs the most delicate game was

suspended,--quails, thrushes, fig-peckers, and rails, those kings

of the plain; and finally, at the top of the tree, a magnificent

heath-cock, caught, no doubt, in the mountains of Ardennes, seemed to

open his broad wings of brown, touched with blue, and hover over this

hecatomb of game.

[Illustration: "_The most delicate game was suspended._"

Original etching by Adrian Marcel.]

Leonard, an agile, slender lad with a fawn-coloured eye, and frank,

resolute face, contemplated his work with admiration, giving here and

there a finishing touch, contrasting the red of a partridge with the

green branch of a juniper-tree, or the shining ebony of a water-hen with

the bright rose of the heather bloom.

"I have informed these gentlemen of your frightful trade, my bad boy,"

said Doctor Gasterini to his nephew Leonard, with a smile. "My lord

canon and the saintly abbé will pray for the salvation of your soul."

"Oh, oh, my good uncle!" replied Leonard, good-naturedly, "I would

rather have them pray for success in shooting the two finest deer, as

company for the wild boar I have killed, whose head and fillets I

present to you, uncle."

"Alas, alas, he is incorrigible!" said Doctor Gasterini, "and unhappily,

my lord canon, you have no idea of the deliciousness of the flavour

peculiar to the minced fillets and properly stuffed head of a year-old

wild boar, seasoned à la Saint Hubert! Ah, my dear canon, how rich, how

juicy! It was right to put this divine dish under the protection of the

patron saint of the chase. But let us pass on," continued the doctor,

preceding Dom Diégo, who was fascinated and dazzled by a display

entirely novel to him, for such wealth of game is unknown in Spain.

"Oh, how grand is Nature in her creations!" said the canon; "what a

marvellous scale of pleasures for the palate from the monstrous wild

boar to the fig-pecker,--that exquisite little bird! Glory, glory to

thee, eternal gratitude to thee," added he, in the manner of an

ejaculatory prayer.

"Bravo, Dom Diégo!" cried the doctor, "now are you in the right."

"Now he is in materialism, in paganism, and the grossest pantheism,"

said the intractable abbé. "You will damn him, doctor, you will destroy

his soul!"

"Still a little patience, my dear abbé," replied the doctor, walking

toward another stall. "Soon, in spite of yourself, you will be convinced

that I speak truly in extolling the excellence of gluttony, or rather

you will think as I do, although you will take occasion to deny the

evidence. Now, canon, you are going to see how this gluttony, so dear to

you and me, becomes one of the causes of the progress of agriculture,

the real basis of the prosperity of the country. And with this subject

let me introduce to you my nephew Mathurin, a tiller of those salt

meadows, which nourish the only beasts worthy of the gourmand, and which

give him those invaluable legs of mutton, those unsurpassed cutlets,

those fillets of wonderful beef which even England envies us. I present

to you also my nephew Mathurin's wife, native of Le Mans, and familiar

with that illustrious school of fattening animals, which produces those

pullets and capons known as one of the glories and riches of France."

The shop of farmer Mathurin was undeniably less picturesque, less

pretty, and by no means so showy as the others, but it had, by way of

compensation, an attractive and dignified simplicity.

Upon large screens of willow branches, covered with thyme, sage,

rosemary, tarragon, and other aromatic herbs, were displayed, in

Herculean size, monstrous pieces of beef for roasting, fabulous

sirloins, marvellous loins of veal, and those legs and saddles of

mutton, and unparalleled cutlets, which have filled the hundred mouths

of Rumour with the incomparable flavour of the famous beasts of the salt

meadows.

Although raw, this delicious meat, surrounded with sweet and pungent

herbs, was so delicate and of such a tempting red with its fat of

immaculate whiteness, that the glances which Dom Diégo threw upon these

specimens of bovine and ovine industry, were nothing less than

carnivorous. Half hidden among clusters of water-cresses was a

collection of pullets, capons, pure India cocks, and a species of fowl

called tardillons, so round and fat and plump, and with a satin skin of

such delicacy, that more than one pretty woman might have envied them.

"Oh, how pretty they are! how lovely they are!" stammered the canon.

"Oh, it is enough to make one lose his head!"

"Ah, my dear canon," said the doctor, "pray, what will you say when the

charming pallor of these pullets will turn into gold by the fires of the

turnspit? when, distended almost to breaking by truffles made bluish

under their delicate epidermis, this satin skin becomes rosy until it

sheds the tear-drops of purple juice, watered by the slow distillation

of its fat, as exquisitely delicate as the fat of a quail."

"Enough, doctor!" cried the canon, excited, "enough, I pray you, of

braving scandal. I will attack one of those adorable pullets, without

the least respect to its present condition."

"Calm yourself, my Lord Dom Diégo," said the doctor, smiling, "the

dinner hour approaches and you can then pay your homage to two sisters

of these adorable fowls."

Then, addressing his nephew Mathurin, the doctor said:

"My boy, these gentlemen think the produce of your farm very wonderful."

"The gentlemen are very kind, dear uncle," replied Mathurin, "but it is

the cattle of one who chooses and loves the work! I do not fear the

English or the Ardennois, upon the flavour of my beef, my veal, or my

mutton from the salt meadows which make my reputation and my fortune.

Because, you see, gentlemen, the prime object of agriculture is to make

food, as we say. The cattle produce the manure, the manure the pasture,

the pasture the fertility of the earth, and the fertility of the earth

gives provision and pasturage to the cattle. All is bound together: the

more the cattle is finely fattened, the better it is for the eater,

according to our proverb; the better it sells, the better is the manure

and consequently better is the culture. So with the poultry of Mathurin;

without doubt, it is a great expense and requires many persons on the

farm, for perhaps, gentlemen, you will not believe that to fatten one of

these capons and one of these pullets as you see them here, we must open

the beak and, fifteen or twenty times a day, put down the throat little

balls of barley flour and milk, and that, too, for three months! But we

get a famous product, because each capon brings us more than a weak

mutton or veal. But immense care is necessary. So, with the advice of

this dear uncle, whose advice is always good, we show every year at

Christmas what we do on the farm. In the evening, upon the return of the

cattle, the first two beeves which enter the stable, the finest or the

poorest, no matter, chance decides it, are set aside; it is the same

with the first six calves; afterward, when, the cages of the fowls are

opened, the first dozen capons, the first dozen pullets, and the first

dozen cocks which come out are set aside."

"What good is that?" asked the abbé. "What is done with these animals

thus appointed by fate?"

"We make a lot of them and they are sold for the profit of the people on

the farm. This profit is in addition to their fixed wages. You

understand, gentlemen, that all my people are thus interested in the

cattle and the poultry, which receive the best possible care, inasmuch

as chance alone decides the lot of _encouragement_, as we call it. What

is the result, gentlemen? It is that cattle and poultry become almost as

much the property of my people as mine, because the finer the lot, the

dearer it sells, and the larger the profit. Eh, gentlemen, would you

believe that, thanks to the zeal, the care and diligence which my farm

people give to the hope of this profit, I gain more than I give, because

our interest is common, so that in improving the condition of these poor

people, I advance my own."

"The moral of all this, my lord canon, is," said the doctor, smiling,

"that it is necessary to eat as many fine sirloins as possible, as many

tender cutlets from the salt meadows, and give oneself with equal

devotion to the unlimited consumption of pullets, capons, and India

cocks, so as to encourage this industry."

"I will try, doctor," said the canon, gravely, "to attain to the height

of my duties."

"And they are more numerous than you think, Dom Diégo, because it

depends upon you too to see that poor people are better clothed and

better shod, and to this you can make especial contribution, by eating

plenty of veal stewed à la Samaritan, plenty of beefsteak with anchovy

sauce, and plenty of lambs' tongues à la d'Uxelle."

"Come now, doctor," said the canon, "you are joking!"

"You are rather slow in discovering that, Dom Diégo," said the abbé.

"I am speaking seriously," replied the doctor, "and I am going to prove

it to you, Dom Diégo. What are shoes made of?"

"Of leather, doctor."

"And what produces this leather? Do not beeves, sheep, and calves? It is

then evident that the more cattle consumed, the more the price of

leather is diminished, and good health-promoting shoes become more

accessible to the poor, who can afford only wooden shoes."

"That is true," said the canon, with a thoughtful expression. "It is

certainly true."

"Now," continued the doctor, "of what are good woollen garments and

good woollen stockings woven? Of the fleece of the sheep! Now, then, the

greater the consumption of mutton, the cheaper wool becomes."

"Ah, doctor," cried the canon, carried away by a sudden burst of fine

philosophy, "what a pity we cannot eat six meals a day! Yes, yes, a man

could kill himself with indigestion for the greater happiness of his

fellow men."

"Ah, Dom Diégo!" replied the doctor, in a significant tone. "Such

perhaps is the martyrdom which awaits you!"

"And I shall submit to it with joy," cried the canon, enthusiastically.

"It is sweet to die for humanity!"

Abbé Ledoux could no longer doubt that Dom Diégo was wholly beyond his

influence, and manifested his vexation by angry glances, and disdainful

shrugs of his shoulders.

"Oh, my God, doctor," suddenly exclaimed the canon, expanding his wide

nostrils over and over again, "what is that appetising odour I scent

there?"

"That is the exhibition of the industry pursued by my nephew Michel, my

lord canon; these things are just out of the oven; see what a golden

brown they have, how dainty they are!"

And Doctor Gasterini pointed out to the canon, the most marvellous

specimens of pastry and bakery that one could possibly imagine: immense

pies of game, of fish and of fowl, delicious morsels of baked

shell-fish, fruit pies, little tarts with preserves and creams of all

sorts, smoking cakes of every description, meringues with pineapple

jelly, burnt almonds and sugared nuts, nougats mounted in shape of

rocks, supporting temples of sugar candy, graceful ships of candy, whose

top of fine spun sugar, resembling filigree work of silver, disclosed a

dish of vanilla cakes, floating in rose-coloured cream whipped as light

as foam. The list of wonderful dainties would be too long to enumerate,

and Canon Dom Diégo stood before them in mute admiration.

"The dinner hour approaches, and I must go to my stoves, to give the

finishing touch to certain dishes, which my pupils have begun," said

Doctor Gasterini to his guest. "But to prove to you the importance of

this appetising branch of industry, I will limit myself to a single

question."

And addressing his nephew Michel, he said:

"My boy, tell the gentleman how much the stock of pastry you exhibit in

the street of La Paix has cost."

"You ought to know, uncle," replied Michel, smiling affectionately at

Doctor Gasterini, "for you advanced the money necessary for the

expenditure."

"My faith, boy, you have reimbursed me long ago, and I have forgotten

the figures. Let us see. It was--"

"Two hundred thousand francs, uncle. And I have done an excellent

business. Besides, the house is good, because my predecessor made there

twenty thousand a year income in ten years."

"Twenty thousand income!" cried Dom Diégo in astonishment, "twenty

thousand!"

"Now you see, my lord canon, how capital is created by eating hot pies

and plum cake with pistachios. But would you like to see something

really grand? For this time we are discussing an industry which affects

not only the interests of almost all the counties of France, but which

extends over a great part of Europe and the East,--that is to say,

Germany, Italy, Greece, Spain, and Portugal. An industry which puts in

circulation an enormous amount of capital, which occupies entire

populations, whose finest products sometimes reach a fabulous price,--an

industry, in short, which is to gluttony what the soul is to the body,

what mind is to matter. Wait, Dom Diégo, look and reverence, for here

the youngest are already very old."

Immediately, through instinct, the canon took off his hat, and

reverently bowed his head.

"I present to you my nephew Theodore, commissary of fine French and

foreign wines," said the doctor to the canon.

There was nothing brilliant or showy in this stall; only simple wooden

shelves filled with dusty bottles and above each shelf a label in red

letters on a black ground, which made the brief and significant

announcement:

* * * * *

"_France._--Chambertin (comet); Clos-Vougeat, 1815; Volney (comet);

Nuits, 1820; Pomard, 1834; Châblis, 1834; Pouilly (comet); Château

Margot, 1818; Haut-Brion, 1820; Château Lafitte, 1834; Sauterne, 1811;

Grave (comet); Roussillon, 1800; Tavel, 1802; Cahors, 1793; Lunel, 1814;

Frontignan (comet); Rivesaltes, 1831; Foamy Ai, 1820; Ai rose, 1831; Dry

Sillery (comet); Eau de vie de Cognac, 1757; Anisette de Bordeaux, 1804;

Ratafia de Louvres, 1807.

"_Germany._--Johannisberg, 1779; Rudesteimer, 1747; Hocheimer, 1760;

Tokai, 1797; Vermouth, 1801; Vin de Hongrie, 1783; Kirchenwasser of the

Black Forest, 1801.

"_Holland._--Anisette, 1821; Curacao red, 1805; White Curacao, 1820;

Genievre, 1799.

"_Italy._--Lacryma Christi, 1803; Imola, 1819.

"_Greece._--Chypre, 1801; Samos, 1813.

"_Ionian Islands._--Marasquin de Zara.

"_Spain._--Val de Penas, 1812; Xeres dry, 1809; Sweet Xeres, 1810;

Escatelle, 1824; Tintilla de Rota, 1823; Malaga, 1799.

"_Portugal._--Po, 1778.

"_Island of Madeira._--Madeira, 1810; having made three voyages from the

Indies.

"_Cape of Good Hope._--Red and white and pale wines, 1826."

* * * * *

While Dom Diégo was looking on with profound interest, Doctor Gasterini

said to his nephew:

"My boy, do you recollect the price at which some celebrated

wine-cellars have been sold?"

"Yes, dear uncle," replied Michel, "the Duke of Sussex owned a

wine-cellar which was sold for two hundred and eighty thousand francs;

Lafitte's wine-cellar sold in Paris for nearly one hundred thousand

francs; the one belonging to Lagillière, also in Paris, was sold for

sixty thousand francs."

"Well, well, Dom Diégo," said Doctor Gasterini to his guest, "what do

you think of it? Do you believe all this to be an abomination, as that

wag Abbé Ledoux, who is observing us now with such a deceitful

countenance, declares? Do you think the passion, which promotes an

industry of such importance, deserves to be anathematised only? Think of

the expenditure of labour in their transport and preservation that these

wine-cellars must have cost. How many people have lived on the money

they represent?"

"I think," said the canon, "that I was blind and stupid never to have

comprehended, until now, the immense social, political, and industrial

influence I have wielded by eating and drinking the choicest viands and

wines. I think now that the consciousness of accomplishing a mission to

the world in giving myself up to unbridled gluttony, will be a delicious

aperient for my appetite,--a consciousness which I owe to you, and to

you only, doctor. Oh, noble thinker! Oh, grand philosophy!"

"This is the science of gastronomy carried to insanity," said Abbé

Ledoux. "It is a new paganism."

"My Lord Diégo," continued the doctor, "we will speak of the gratitude

which you think you owe me, when we have taken a view of this last shop.

Here is an industry which surpasses in importance all of which we have

been speaking. The question is a grave one, for it turns the scale of

gluttony's influence upon the equilibrium of Europe."

"The equilibrium of Europe!" said the canon, more and more dismayed.

"What has eating to do with the equilibrium of Europe?"

"Go on, go on, Dom Diégo," said Abbé Ledoux, shrugging his shoulders,

"if you listen to this tempter, he will prove to you things still more

astonishing."

"I am going to prove, my dear abbé, both to you and to Dom Diégo, that I

advance nothing but what is strictly true. And, first, you will confess,

will you not, that the marine service of a nation like France has great

weight in the balance of the destinies of Europe?"

"Certainly," said the canon.

"Well, what follows?" said the abbé.

"Now," pursued the doctor, "you will agree with me, that as this

military marine service is strengthened or enfeebled, France gains or

loses in the same proportion?"

"Evidently," said the canon.

"Conclude your argument," cried the abbé, "that is what I am waiting

for."

"I will conclude then, my dear abbé, by saying that the more progress

gluttony makes, the more accessible it becomes to the greatest number,

the more will the military marine of France gain in strength and in

influence, and that, my Lord Dom Diégo, I am going to demonstrate to you

by begging you to read that sign."

And just above the door of this last stall, the only one not occupied by

a niece or nephew of Doctor Gasterini, were the words "Colonial

Provisions."

"Colonial provisions," repeated the canon aloud, looking at the

physician with an interrogating air, while the abbé, more discerning,

bit his lips with vexation.

"Do I need to tell you, lord canon," pursued the doctor, "that without

colonies, we would have no merchant service, and without a merchant

service, no navy for war, since the navy is recruited from the seamen

in the merchant service? Well, if the lovers of good eating did not

consume all the delicacies which you see exhibited here in small

samples,--sugar, coffee, vanilla, cloves, cinnamon, ginger, rice,

pistachios, Cayenne pepper, nutmeg, liquors from the islands, hachars

from the Indies, what, I ask you, would become of our colonies, that is

to say, our maritime power?"

"I am amazed," cried the canon, "I am dizzy; at each step I feel myself

expand a hundred cubits."

"And, zounds! you are right, lord Dom Diégo," said the doctor, "for

indeed, when, after having tasted at dessert a cheese frozen with

vanilla, to which will succeed a glass of wine from Constance or the

Cape, you take a cup of coffee, and conclude of course with one or two

little glasses of liquor from the islands, flavoured with cloves or

cinnamon, ah, well, you will further heroically the maritime power of

France, and do in your sphere as much for the navy as the sailor or the

captain. And speaking of captains, lord canon," added the doctor, sadly,

"I wish you to observe that among all the shops we have seen, this one

alone is empty, because the captain of the ship which has brought all

these choice provisions from the Indies and the colonies dares not show

himself, while he is under the cloud of your vengeance. I mean, canon,

my poor nephew, Captain Horace. He alone has failed to come, to-day, to

this family feast."

"Ah, the accursed serpent!" muttered the abbé, "how adroitly he goes to

his aim; how well he knows how to wind this miserable brute, Dom Diégo,

around his finger."

At the name of Captain Horace, the canon started, then relapsed into

thoughtful silence.

CHAPTER XIV.

Canon Dom Diégo, after a few moments' silence, extended his fat hand to

Doctor Gasterini, and, trembling with emotion, said:

"Doctor, Captain Horace cost me my appetite; you have restored it to me,

I hope, for the remainder of my life; and much more, you have, according

to your promise, proven to me, not by specious reasoning, but by facts

and figures, that the gourmand, as you have declared with so much

wisdom, accomplishes a high social and political mission in the

civilised world; you have delivered me from the pangs of remorse by

giving me a knowledge of the noble task that my epicureanism may

perform, and in this sacred duty, doctor, I will not fail. So, in

gratitude to you, in appreciation of you, I hope to acquit myself

modestly by declaring to you that, not only shall I refuse to enter a

complaint against your nephew, Captain Horace, but I cordially bestow

upon him the hand of my niece in marriage."

"As I told you, canon," said the abbé, "I was very sure that once this

diabolical doctor had you in his clutches, he would do with you all that

he desired. Where now are the beautiful resolutions you made this

morning?"

"Abbé," replied Dom Diégo, in a self-sufficient tone, "I am not a child;

I shall know how to stand at the height of the rôle the doctor has

marked out for me."

Then turning to the doctor, he added:

"You can instruct me, sir, what to write; a reliable person will take my

letter, and go immediately in your carriage to the convent for my

niece, and conduct her to this house."

"Lord Dom Diégo," replied the doctor, "you assure the happiness of our

two children, the joy of my declining days, and consequently your

satisfaction and pleasure in the indulgence of your appetite, for I

shall keep my word; I will make you dine every day better than I made

you breakfast the other morning. A wing of this house will henceforth be

at your disposal; you will do me the honour of eating at my table, and

you see that, after the professions I have chosen for my nieces and

nephews,--with the knowledge and taste of an epicure, as I have told

you,--my larder and my wine-cellar will be always marvellously well

appointed and supplied. I am growing old, I have need of a staff in my

old age. Horace and his wife shall never leave me. I shall confide to

them the collection of my culinary traditions, that they may transmit

them from generation to generation; we shall all live together, and we

shall enjoy in turn the practice and philosophy of gluttony, my lord

canon."

"Doctor, I set my foot upon the very threshold of paradise!" cried the

canon. "Ah, Providence is merciful, it loads a poor sinner like myself

with blessings!"

"Heresy! blasphemy! impiety!" cried Abbé Ledoux. "You will be damned,

thrice damned, as will be your tempter!"

"Come now, dear abbé," replied the doctor, "none of your tricks. Confess

at once that I have convinced you by my reasoning."

"I! I am convinced!"

"Certainly, because I defy you--you and all like you, past, present, or

future--to get out of this dilemma."

"Let us hear the dilemma."

"If gluttony is a monstrosity, then frugality pushed to the extreme

ought to be a virtue."

"Certainly," answered the abbé.

"Then, my dear abbé, the more frugal a man is, according to your theory,

the more deserving is he."

"Evidently, doctor."

"So the man who lives on uncooked roots, and drinks water only for the

purpose of self-mortification, would be the type and model of a virtuous

man."

"And who doubts it? You can find that celestial type among the

anchorites."

"Admirable types, indeed, abbé! Now, according to your ideas of making

proselytes, you ought to desire most earnestly that all mankind should

approach this type of ideal perfection as nearly as possible,--a man

inhabiting a cave and living on roots. The beautiful ideal of your

religious society would then be a society of cave-dwellers and

root-eaters, administering rough discipline by way of pastime."

"Would to God it might be so!" sternly answered the abbé; "there would

be then as many righteous on the earth as there are men."

"In the first place that would deplete the census considerably, my dear

abbé, and afterward there would be the little inconvenience of

destroying with one blow all the various industries, the specimens of

which we have just been admiring. Without taking into account the

industry of weavers who make our cloth, silversmiths who emboss silver

plate, fabricators of porcelain and glass, painters, gilders, who

embellish our houses, upholsterers, etc., that is to say, society, in

approaching your ideal, would annihilate three-fourths of the most

flourishing industries, and, in other words, would return to a savage

state."

"Better work out your salvation in a savage state," persisted the

opinionated Abbé Ledoux, "than deserve eternal agony by abandoning

yourself to the pleasures of a corrupt civilisation."

"What sublime disinterestedness! But then, why leave so generously these

renunciations to others, these bitter, cruel privations, abandoning to

them your part of paradise, and modestly contenting yourself with easy

living here below, sleeping on eider-down, refreshing yourself with cool

drinks, and comforting your stomach with warm food? Come, let us talk

seriously, and confess that this is a veritable outrage, a veritable

blasphemy against the munificence of creation, not to enjoy the thousand

good things which she provides for the satisfaction of the creature."

"Pagans, materialists, philosophers!" exclaimed Abbé Ledoux, "who are

not able to admit what, in their infernal pride, they are not able to

comprehend!"

"Yes, _credo quia absurdum._ This axiom is as old as the world, my dear

abbé, but it does not prevent the world's progress to the overthrow of

your theories of privation and renunciation. Thank God, the world

continually seeks welfare! Believe me, it is not necessary to reduce

mankind to feeding on roots and drinking water; on the contrary, we

ought to work to the end that the largest possible number may live, at

least, upon good meats, good poultry, good fruit, good bread, and pure

wine. Nature, in her infinite wisdom, has made man insatiable in demands

for his body, and in the aspirations of his intelligence, and, if we

think only of the wonderful things which man has made to gratify his

five senses, for which nature has provided so bountifully, we are struck

with admiration. We are then but obeying natural laws to labour with

enthusiasm for the comfort and well-being of others, by the consumption

and use of these provisions, and, as I told the canon, to do, each in

his own sphere, as much as possible; in short, to enjoy without remorse,

because--But the clock strikes six; come with me, my lord canon, and

write the letter which is to bring your charming niece here. I will take

a last look at my laboratory, where two of my best pupils have

undertaken duties which I have entrusted to them. The dear abbé will

await me in the parlour, for I intend to complete my programme and

prove to him, by economic facts, not only the excellence of gluttony,

but also of the other passions he calls the deadly sins."

"Very well, we will see how far you will push your sacrilegious

paradoxes," said Abbé Ledoux, imperturbably. "Besides, all monstrosities

are interesting to observe, but, doctor--doctor--three centuries ago,

what a magnificient auto da fé they would have made of you!"

"A bad roast, my dear abbé! It would not be worth much more than the

result of that hunt that you made in the glorious time of your

fanaticism against the Protestants in the mountains of Cévennes. Bad

game, abbé. Well, I shall be back soon, my dear guests," said the

doctor, taking his departure.

The canon having written to the mother superior of the convent, a man in

the confidence of Doctor Gasterini departed in a carriage to fetch

Senora Dolores Salcedo, and at the same time to inform Captain Horace

and his faithful Sans-Plume that they could come out of their

hiding-place.

A half-hour after the departure of this emissary, the canon, the abbé,

as well as the nieces and nephews of Doctor Gasterini, and several other

guests, met in the doctor's parlour.

CHAPTER XV.

Dolores and Horace soon arrived, within a short interval of each other,

at the house of Doctor Gasterini. We leave the reader to imagine the joy

of the two lovers and the expression of their tender gratitude to the

doctor and the canon. The profound pity of the canon, the consciousness

of assuring the happiness of his niece, were manifested by a hunger as

rapacious as that of a tiger, as he whispered, with a doleful voice, in

the doctor's ear:

"Alas, alas! will your other guests never come, doctor? Some people have

such frightful egotism!"

"My guests will not delay much longer, my dear canon; it is half-past

six, and at seven o'clock every one knows that I go to the table

relentlessly."

In fact the invited guests of the doctor were not long in assembling,

and a valet announced successively the following names:

"The Duke and Duchess of Senneterre-Maillefort!"

"Pride," whispered the doctor to the canon and abbé, who made a wry face

as he recalled the misadventure of his protégé, who pretended to the

hand of the rich heiress, Mlle. de Beaumesnil.

"How amiable you are, duchess, to have accepted my invitation!" said the

doctor to Herminie, whom he advanced to welcome, kissing her hand

respectfully. "If I must tell you, madame, I counted on you to decide on

this dear pride, that M. de Maillefort, M. de Senneterre, and I admire

so much in you."

"And how is that, my dear doctor?" said Gerald de Senneterre,

affectionately. "I well know that I owe the happiness of my life to my

wife's pride, but--"

"Our dear doctor is right," replied Herminie, smiling. "I am very proud

of the friendship he has for us, and I avail myself of every opportunity

to show him how much I appreciate his attachment, without even speaking

of the eternal gratitude we owe him for his devoted care of my son and

the daughter of Ernestine. I need not tell you, dear doctor, how much

she regrets not being here this evening, but her indisposition keeps her

at home, and dear Olivier and her uncle, M. de Maillefort, do not leave

the interesting invalid one minute."

"There is nothing like these old sailors, these old soldiers of Africa,

and these duellist marquises to make good nurses, without wishing to

depreciate the terrible Madame Barbançon," replied the doctor, gaily.

"Only, duchess, permit me to differ from you in the construction you

have placed on my words. I wished to say that your own tendency to pride

assured me beforehand that you will encourage in me that delightful sin,

in making me proud to have you in my house."

"And I, doctor," said Gerald de Senneterre, smiling, "I declare that you

encourage in us alarmingly the dainty sin of gluttony, because when one

has dined at your house, he becomes a gourmand for ever!"

The conversation of the doctor, Herminie, and Gerald, to which the canon

was giving close attention, was interrupted by the voice of the valet,

who announced:

"M. Yvon Cloarek!"

"Anger," whispered the doctor to the canon, advancing to meet the old

corsair, who, notwithstanding his great age, was still hale and

vigorous.

"Long live the railroads! for I come this instant from Havre, my old

comrade, to assist at the anniversary of your birthday," said Yvon,

cordially grasping the doctor's hands, "and to come here I have left

Sabine, Sabinon, and Sabinette,--names that the old centenarian,

Segoffin, my head artilleryman, has given to my granddaughter and

great-granddaughter, for I am a great-grandfather, you know."

"Zounds! old comrade, and I hope you will not stop at that!"

"And so my son-in-law, Onésime, whom you ushered into life thirty years

ago, charged me to remember him to you. And here I am!"

"Could you fail to be at our annual reunions, Yvon, my brave comrade, I

should have one of those magnificent attacks of anger which used to

possess you."

Then turning to the canon and the abbé, the doctor presented Yvon,

saying:

"This is Captain Cloarek, one of our oldest and most illustrious

corsairs, the famous hero of the brig _Hellhound_, which played

wonderful tricks at the end of the Empire."

"Ah, captain," said the canon, "in 1812 I was at Gibraltar, and I had

the honour of often hearing you and your ship cursed by the English."

"And do you know, my dear canon, to what admirable sin Captain Cloarek

owes his glory, and the services he rendered to France in the victorious

cruises he made against the English? I am going to tell you, and my old

friend will not contradict me. Glory, success, riches,--he owes all to

anger."

"To anger?" exclaimed the abbé.

"To anger!" said the canon.

"The truth is, gentlemen," modestly answered Cloarek, "that the little I

have done for my country I owe to my naturally tremendous anger."

"M. and Madame Michel," announced the valet.

"Indolence," said the doctor to the canon and the abbé, approaching

Florence and her husband,--Michel having married Madame de Lucenay after

the death of M. de Lucenay, victim of a balloon ascension he had

attempted from Mount Chimborazo, in company with Valentine.

"Ah, madame," said Doctor Gasterini, gallantly kissing the hand of

Florence, "how well I know your good-will when you tear yourself away

from your self-indulgent, sweet habits of idleness, to give me the

pleasure of having you at my house before your departure for your

beautiful retreat in Provence."

"Why, my good doctor," replied the young woman, smiling, "do you forget

that indolent people are capable of everything?"

"Even of making the incredible effort of coming to dine with one of

their best friends," added Michel, grasping the doctor's hand.

"And to think," replied Doctor Gasterini, "just to think that several

years ago I was consulted for the purpose of curing you of this dreadful

sin of indolence. Happily the limitations of science, and especially the

profound respect I feel for the gifts of the Creator, prevented my

attempt upon the ineffable supineness with which you are endowed."

And designating Abbé Ledoux by a glance of his eye, the doctor added:

"And, madame, Abbé Ledoux, whom I have the honour of presenting to you,

considers me, at this hour even, a pagan, a dreadful idolater. Be good

enough to rehabilitate me in his opinion, by informing this saintly man

that you and your husband have, in the midst of profound and invincible

idleness, exercised an activity without bounds, an inconceivable energy,

and a sagacity which have secured for both of you an honourable

independence."

"For the honour of indolence, respected abbé," replied Florence,

smiling, "I am obliged to do violence to my own modesty, as well as that

of my husband, by confessing that the dear doctor has spoken the truth."

"M. Richard!" announced the valet.

"Avarice," whispered the doctor to the canon and the abbé, while the

father of Louis Richard, the happy husband of Marietta, advanced to meet

him.

"Is this M. Richard?" said the abbé, in a low voice to Doctor Gasterini,

"the founder of those schools and houses of retreat established at

Chaillot, and so admirably organised?"

"It is he, himself," replied the doctor, extending his hand to the old

man, as he said, "Welcome, good Richard, the abbé was just speaking to

me of you."

"Of me, dear doctor?"

"Or, if you prefer it, of your wonderful endowments at Chaillot."

"Ah, doctor," said the old man, "you must render unto Cæsar the things

that are Cæsar's,--my son is the founder of those charitable

institutions."

"Let us see, my good Richard," replied the doctor, "if you had not been

as thorough a miser as your friend, Ramon, your worthy son would not

have been able to make your name blessed everywhere as he has done."

"As to that, doctor, it is the pure truth, and, too, I confess to you

that there is not a day I do not thank God, from this fact, for having

made me the most avaricious of men."

"And how is your son's friend, the Marquis of Saint-Hérem?"

"He came to visit us yesterday with his wife. His household is the very

pearl of establishments. He invited us to visit his castle just erected

in the valley of Chevreuse. They say that no palace in Paris equals it

in splendour. It seems that for three years fifteen hundred artisans

have been at work on it, without counting the terraces of the park,

which alone have employed the force of four villages, and, as the

marquis pays handsomely, you can conceive what comfort has been spread

abroad through the neighbourhoods around his castle."

"Well, then, my good Richard, you confess that, if the uncle of the

marquis had not had the same avarice which you possessed, this generous

fellow would not have been able to give work to so many families."

"That is true, my dear doctor, so, under the name of Saint-Ramon, as the

marquis has jestingly christened his uncle, the memory of this famous

miser is blessed by everybody."

"It is inconceivable, abbé," said the canon, "the doctor must be right.

I am confounded with what I hear and with what I see. We are actually

going to dine with the seven deadly sins."

"M. Henri David!" said the valet.

At this name the countenance of the doctor became grave; he walked up to

David, took both his hands with effusive tenderness, and said:

"Pardon me for having insisted upon your acceptance of this invitation,

my dear David, but I promised my excellent friend and pupil, Doctor

Dufour, who recommended you to me, to try to divert you during your

short sojourn in Paris."

"And I feel the need of these diversions, I assure you, sir. Down there

our life is so calm, so regular, that hours slip away unperceived; but

here, lost in the turmoil of this great city to which I have become a

stranger, I feel these paroxysms of painful sadness, and I thank you a

thousand times for having provided for me such an agreeable

distraction."

Henri David was talking thus to the doctor when seven o'clock sounded.

The canon uttered a profound sigh of satisfaction as he saw the steward

open the folding doors of the dining-room.

CONCLUSION.

At the moment the guests of the doctor were about to enter the

dining-room, the valet announced:

"Madame the Marquise de Miranda."

"Luxury," whispered the doctor to the abbé. "I feared she might fail

us."

Then offering his arm to Madeleine, more beautiful, more bewitching than

ever, the doctor said, as he conducted her to the dining-room:

"I had just begun to despair of the good fortune you had promised me,

madame. Listen to me, at my age the happiness of seeing you here again

you must know is inexpressible. Ah, if I were only fifty years younger!"

"I would take you for my cavalier, my dear doctor," said the marquise,

laughing extravagantly; "I think we have been friends, at the least

estimate, for fifty years."

We will not undertake to enumerate the wonders of the doctor's elegant

dining-room. We will limit ourselves to the menu of this dinner,--a menu

which each guest, thanks to a delicate forethought, found under his

napkin, between two dozen oysters, one from Ostend and the other from

Marennes. This menu was written on white vellum, and encased in a little

framework of carved silver leaves enamelled with green. Each guest thus

knew how to reserve his appetite for such dishes as he preferred. Let us

add only that the size of the table and the dining-room was such that,

instead of the narrow and inconvenient chairs which force you to eat, so

to speak, with the elbows close to the body, each guest, seated in a

large and comfortable chair, the feet on a soft carpet, had all the

latitude necessary for the evolutions of his knife and fork. Here is the

menu which the canon took with a hand trembling with emotion and read

religiously.

* * * * *

MENU FOR DINNER.

_Four Soups._--Soup à la Condé, rich crab soup with white meat of fowl,

soup with kouskoussou, consommé with toast.

_Four Relevés of Fish._--Head of sturgeon à la Godard, pieces of eel à

l'Italienne, salmon à la Chambord, turbot à la Hollandaise.

_Four By-plates._--Croquettes à la royale, morsels of baked lobster

tail, soft roe of carps à la Orly, little pies à la reine.

_Four Large Dishes._--Quarter of pickled wild boar, ragout of beef from

salt meadows, quarter of veal à la Monglas, roast beef from salt

meadows.

_Sixteen Entrées._--Scalloped roebuck à l'Espagnole, fillet of lamb à la

Toulouse, slices of duck with orange, sweetbreads with jelly, sweetmeats

of beccaficos à la d'Uxelle, meat pie à la Nesle, macaroni à la

Parisienne, hot ortolan pie, fillets of pullet from Mans, woodcocks with

choicest seasoning, quails on toast, rabbit cutlets à la maréchale, veal

liver with rice, partridge with black pudding à la Richelieu, foie gras

à la Provençal, fillet of plover à la Lyonnaise.

_Intermediate._--Punch à la Romaine.

_Birds._--Pheasants sauced and stuffed with truffles, fowl dressed with

slices of bacon, turkey stuffed with truffles from Périgord, grouse.

_Ten Side-dishes._--Cardoons with marrow, artichokes à la Napolitaine,

broiled mushrooms, Périgord truffles with champagne wine, white truffles

of Piedmont with olive oil, celery à la Française, lobster stewed with

Madeira wine, shrimps stewed with kari from the Indies, lettuce with

essence of ham, asparagus and peas.

_Two Large Confections._--Candy ship in rose-coloured cream, temple of

sugar candy with pistachios.

Chestnuts with frozen apricots, pineapple jelly with fruits, Bavarian

cheese frozen with raspberries, whipped cream with cherry jelly, French

cream with black coffee, preserved strawberries.

* * * * *

After reading this menu, the canon, carried away with enthusiasm, and

forgetting, we must confess, all conventionalities, rose from his chair,

took his knife in one hand and his fork in the other, and, stretching

out his arm, said, in a solemn voice:

"Doctor, I swear I will eat it all!"

* * * * *

And in fact the canon did eat all.

And still he had an appetite.

It is useless to say that the exquisite wines, whose delicious ambrosia

the canon had already tested, circulated in profusion.

At dessert, Doctor Gasterini rose, holding in his hand a little glass of

iced wine of Constance, and said:

"Ladies, I am going to offer an infernal toast,--a toast as diabolical

as if we were joyously banqueting among the damned in the lowest depth

of the dining-room in the kingdom of Satan."

"Oh, oh, dear, amiable doctor!" exclaimed all with one voice, "pray what

is this infernal toast?"

"To the seven deadly sins!" replied the doctor. "And now, ladies, permit

me to express to you the thought which this toast inspires in me. I

promised Abbé Ledoux, who has the honour of being seated by the Marquise

de Miranda,--I promised the abbé, I repeat, this man of mind, of

experience, and learning, but incredulous,--to prove to him by positive,

incontrovertible facts, the good that can be achieved in certain

instances, and in a certain measure by these tendencies, instincts, and

passions which we name the seven deadly sins. The whole problem is to

regulate them wisely, and to draw from them the best that is possible.

Now, as the Duchess of Senneterre-Maillefort, Madame Florence Michel,

and the Marquise de Miranda have for a long time honoured me with their

friendship,--as MM. Richard, Yvon Cloarek, and Henri David are my good

old friends, I hope that, for the triumph of sound ideas, my amiable

guests will have the grace to aid me in rehabilitating these capital

sins, that by their excess, owing to the absence of proper control, have

been absolutely condemned, and in converting this poor abbé to their

possible utility. He sins only through ignorance and obstinacy, it is

true, but he does not the less blaspheme these admirable means and

sources of energy, happiness, and wealth, which the inexhaustible

munificence of the Creator has bestowed upon his creatures. Now, as

nothing is more charming than a conversation at dessert, among men of

mind, I beg that, in the interest of our unfortunate brother, Abbé

Ledoux, the representatives of these various sins will tell us all that

they owe to them, both in their own careers and in the success of

others."

The proposition of Doctor Gasterini, unanimously welcomed, was carried

out with perfect grace and uninterrupted joyousness. Henri David, who

was the last but one to speak, interested the guests keenly in

recounting the prodigies of devotion and generosity that Envy had

inspired in Frederick Bastien, and even tears flowed at the account of

the death of that noble child and that of his angelic mother. Happily

the recital of Luxury concluded the dinner, and the lively marquise made

the whole company laugh, when speaking of her adventure with the

archduke, whose passion she did not share. She said that it was easier

to induce the Pope's legate to masquerade as a Hungarian hussar than to

make an Austrian archduke comprehend that man was born for liberty.

Moreover, the marquise announced that she contrived a plan of campaign

against the old Radetzki, and finally engaged in transforming him into a

coal merchant, and making him one of the chief instruments in the

liberation of Italy.

"But this snow, dear and beautiful marquise," said the doctor to her, in

a low voice, after this recital, "this armour of ice, which renders you

apparently disdainful to those whom you inflame, is it never melted by

so many fires?"

"No, no, my good doctor," replied the marquise, softly, with a

melancholy smile; "the memory of my blond archangel, my ideal and only

love, keeps the depths of my heart pure and fresh, like a flower under

the snow."

"And I had remorse!" cried the canon, in a transport of delight over his

easy digestion. "I was miscreant enough to feel remorse for the

indulgence of my appetite."

"Instead of remorse, an excellent dinner gives, on the contrary, even to

the most selfish hearts, a singular inclination to charity," replied the

doctor, "and if I did not fear I should be anathematised by our critical

and dear Abbé Ledoux, I would add that, from the point of view of

charity,--from that standpoint, gluttony would have the happiest

results."

"Go on," replied the abbé, shrugging his shoulders, as he sipped a

little glass of exquisite cream, flavoured with cinnamon of Madame

Amphoux, 1788. "You have already uttered so many absurdities, dear

doctor, that one more or less--"

"It depends not on chimeras, utopian schemes, but upon facts, palpable,

practical, to-day and to-morrow," interrupted the doctor, "facts which

can pour every day considerable sums in the coffers of the benevolent

enterprises of Paris! Is that an absurdity?"

"Speak, dear doctor," said the guests, unanimously; "speak! We are all

listening to you."

"This is what happened," replied the doctor; "and I regret that the

thought did not occur to me sooner. Three days ago I was walking on one

of the boulevards, about six o'clock in the evening. Surprised by a

heavy shower, I took refuge in a café, one of the most fashionable

restaurants in Paris. I never dine anywhere else than at home, but to

keep myself in countenance, and satisfy my desire for observation, I

ordered a few dishes which I did not touch, and, while I was waiting for

the rain to stop, I amused myself by observing the persons who were

dining. There could be a book, and a curious book, too, written upon the

different shades of manner, character, and social and other conditions

of people who reveal themselves unconsciously at the solemn hour of

dinner. But that is not the question. I made this observation only, that

each man, as he seated himself at the table, with an air indifferent,

anxious, cheerful, or morose, as the case might be, seemed, in

proportion as he dined upon excellent dishes, to yield to a sort of

beatitude and inward happiness, which was reflected upon his

countenance, that faithful mirror of the soul. As I was seated near one

of the windows, I followed with my eye each one as he left the café.

Outside the door stood a pale, ragged child, shivering under the cold

autumn rain. Ah, well, my friends,--I say it to the praise of

gourmands,--almost every one of those who had dined the best gave alms

to the poor little hungry, trembling creature. Now, without speaking ill

of my neighbour, I ask, would these same persons, fasting, have been as

charitable? And I venture to affirm that the little beggar would have

met with a harsh denial if he had asked them when they entered the café,

instead of waiting until they came out."

"Is this pagan going to tell us that charity owes its birth to

gluttony?" cried Abbé Ledoux.

"To reply successfully, dear abbé, it would be necessary for me to enter

into a physiological discussion upon the subject of the influence of the

physical on the moral," said the doctor. "I will tell you one simple

thing. You have boxes for the poor at the doors of your churches. No one

more than myself respects the charity of those faithful souls who put

their rich or modest offering in these sacred places; but why not place

alms-boxes in fashionable cafés, where the rich and the happy go to

satisfy their refined tastes? Why not, I say, place your poor-boxes in

some conspicuous spot, with the simple inscription, 'For the hungry?'"

"The doctor is right!" shouted the guests. "It is an excellent idea;

every great establishment would show large receipts every day."

"And the little establishments also," replied the doctor. "Ah, believe

me, my friends, he who has made a modest repast, as well as the opulent

diner, feels that compassion which is born of a satisfied want or

pleasure, when he thinks of those who are deprived of the satisfaction

of this want or this pleasure. Now, then, let me resume: If all the

proprietors of these restaurants and cafés would follow my counsel,

having an understanding with the members of benevolent enterprises, and

would place in some conspicuous spot their poor-boxes, with the words,

or others equivalent, 'For the hungry,' I am convinced, whether from

charity, pride, or respect for humanity, you would see alms rain down in

them to overflowing. For the most selfish man, who has spent a louis or

more for his dinner, feels, in spite of himself, a painful sense of

benefits, a sort of bitter after-taste, at the sight of those who

suffer. A generous alms absolves him in his own eyes, and from a

hygienic point of view, dear canon, this little act of charity would

give him a most happy digestion."

"Doctor, I confess myself vanquished!" cried Abbé Ledoux. "I drink, if

not to the seven deadly sins in general, at least, in particular to

gluttony."

THE END.