IN WHICH THE MARQUIS DE SOUDAY BITTERLY REGRETS THAT
PETIT-PIERRE IS NOT A GENTLEMAN.
The two young men, whom the Marquis de Souday pushed before him,
stopped on the threshold of the dining-room door. The aspect of the
table was literally formidable.
In the centre rose, like an ancient citadel commanding a town, an
enormous pasty of boar's meat and venison. A pike weighing fifteen
pounds, three or four chickens in a stew, and a regular tower of Babel
in cutlets flanked this citadel to the north, south, east, and west;
and for outposts or picket-guards M. de Souday's cook had surrounded
these heavy works with a cordon of dishes, all touching one another,
and containing aliments of many kinds,--hors-d'[oe]uvres, entrées,
entremets, vegetables, salads, fruits, and marmalades,--all huddled
together and heaped in a confusion that was certainly not picturesque,
though full of charm for appetites sharpened by the cutting air of the
forests of the Mauge region.
"Heavens!" cried Petit-Pierre, drawing back, as we have said, at the
sight of such victualling. "You treat poor peasants too royally,
Monsieur de Souday."
"Oh, as for that, I have nothing to do with it, my young friend, and
you must neither blame me nor thank me. I leave all that to these
young ladies. But it is, I hope, unnecessary to say how happy I am
that you honor the board of a poor country gentleman."
So saying, the marquis gently impelled Petit-Pierre, who still seemed
to hesitate, to approach the table. He yielded to the pressure with
some reserve.
"I know I cannot worthily respond to what you expect of me, Monsieur
le marquis," he said; "for I must humbly admit to you that I am a very
poor eater."
"I understand," said the marquis; "you are accustomed to delicate
dishes. As for me, I am a regular peasant, and I prefer good, solid,
succulent food, which repairs the waste of the system, to all the
dainties of a fine table."
"That's a point I have often heard King Louis XVIII. and the Marquis
d'Avaray discuss," said Petit-Pierre.
The Comte de Bonneville touched the youth's arm.
"Then you knew King Louis XVIII. and the Marquis d'Avaray?" said the
old gentleman, in much amazement, looking at Petit-Pierre, as if to
make sure that the youth was not laughing at him.
"Yes, I knew them well, in my youth," replied Petit-Pierre, simply.
"Hum!" said the marquis, shortly.
They had now taken their places round the table, Mary and Bertha with
them, and the formidable breakfast began. But in vain did the marquis
offer dish after dish to his younger guest. Petit-Pierre refused all,
and said if his host were willing he would like a cup of tea and two
fresh eggs from the fowls he heard clucking so cheerfully in the
poultry-yard.
"As for fresh eggs," said the marquis, "that's an easy matter. Mary
shall get you some warm from the nest; but as for tea, the devil! I
doubt if there is such a thing in the house."
Mary did not wait to be sent on this errand. She was already leaving
the room when her father's remark about the tea stopped her, and she
seemed as embarrassed as he. Evidently tea was lacking. Petit-Pierre
noticed the quandary of his hosts.
"Oh!" he said, "don't give yourself any uneasiness. Monsieur de
Bonneville will have the kindness to take a few spoonfuls from my
dressing-case."
"Your dressing-case!"
"Yes," said Petit-Pierre. "As I have contracted the bad habit of
drinking tea, I always carry it with me in travelling."
And he gave the Comte de Bonneville a little key, selecting it from a
bunch that was hanging to a gold chain. The Comte de Bonneville
hastened away by one door as Mary went out by the other.
"Upon my soul!" cried the marquis, engulfing an enormous mouthful of
venison, "you are something of a girl, my young friend; and if it were
not for the opinions I heard you express just now, which I consider
too profound for the female mind, I should almost doubt your sex."
Petit-Pierre smiled.
"Wait till you see me at work, Monsieur le marquis, when we meet
Philippe's troops. You'll soon resign the poor opinion you are forming
of me now."
"What? Do you mean to belong to any of our bands?" cried the marquis,
more and more puzzled.
"I hope so," said the youth.
"And I'll answer for it," said Bonneville, returning and giving
Petit-Pierre the little key he had received from him, "I'll answer for
it you'll always find him in the front rank."
"I am glad of it, my young friend," said the marquis; "but I am not
surprised. God has not measured courage by the bodies to which he
gives it, and I saw in the old war one of the ladies who followed M.
de Charette fire her pistols valiantly."
Just then Mary returned, bringing in one hand a teapot, and in the
other a plate with two boiled eggs on it.
"Thank you, my beautiful child," said Petit-Pierre, in a tone of
gallant protection, which reminded M. de Souday of the seigneurs of
the old court. "A thousand excuses for the trouble I have given you."
[Illustration: Portrait of Louis XVIII.]
"You spoke just now of his Majesty Louis XVIII.," said the Marquis de
Souday, "and his culinary opinions. I have heard it said that he was
extremely fastidious about his meals and his way of eating them."
"That is true," said Petit-Pierre; "he had a fashion of eating
ortolans and cutlets which was his alone."
"And yet," said the Marquis de Souday, setting his handsome teeth into
a cutlet and gnawing off the whole lean of it with one bite, "it seems
to me there is only one way of eating a cutlet."
"Your way, I suppose, Monsieur le marquis," said Bonneville, laughing.
"Yes, faith! and as for ortolans, when by chance Mary and Bertha
condescend to gunning, and bring home, not ortolans, but larks and
fig-peckers, I take them by the beak, salt and pepper them nicely, put
them whole into my mouth, and crunch them off at the neck. They are
excellent eaten that way; only, it requires two or three dozen for
each person."
Petit-Pierre laughed. It reminded him of the story of the Swiss guard
who wagered he would eat a calf in six weeks for his dinner.
"I was wrong in saying that Louis XVIII. had a peculiar way of eating
ortolans and cutlets; I should have said a peculiar way of having them
cooked."
"Bless me!" exclaimed the marquis; "it seems to me there are no two
ways for that either. You roast ortolans on a spit, and you broil
cutlets on a gridiron."
"True," said Petit-Pierre, who evidently took pleasure in all these
recollections; "but his Majesty Louis XVIII. refined upon the process.
As for cutlets, the _chef_ at the Tuileries was careful to cook the
ones which 'had the honor,' as he said, to be eaten by the king
between two other cutlets, so that the middle cutlet got the juices of
the other two. He did something the same thing with the ortolans.
Those that were eaten by the king were put inside a thrush, and the
thrush inside a woodcock, so that by the time the ortolan was cooked
the woodcock was uneatable, but the thrush was excellent, and the
ortolan superlative."
"But really, young man," said the marquis, throwing himself back in
his chair, and looking at Petit-Pierre with extreme astonishment, "one
would think you had seen the good King Louis XVIII. performing all
these gastronomic feats."
"I have seen him," replied Petit-Pierre.
"Did you have a place at court?" asked the marquis, laughing.
"I was page," replied Petit-Pierre.
"Ah! that explains it all," said the marquis. "Upon my soul! you have
seen a good deal for one of your age."
"Yes," replied Petit-Pierre, with a sigh. "Too much, in fact."
The two young girls glanced sympathetically at the young man. The face
which looked so youthful at first sight showed, on closer examination,
that a certain number of years had passed over it, and that troubles
had left their mark there.
The marquis made two or three attempts to continue the conversation;
but Petit-Pierre, buried in thought, seemed to have said all he meant
to say, and whether he did not hear the various theories the marquis
advanced on dark meats and white meats, and on the difference of
flavor between the wild game of the forest and the domesticated game
of the poultry-yard, or whether he did not think it worth while to
approve or to confute, he maintained an absolute silence.
Nevertheless, in spite of this non-responsiveness, the marquis, now in
high good-humor after the generous satisfaction of his appetite, was
enchanted with his young friend. They returned to the salon; but
there, Petit-Pierre, instead of remaining with the two young girls and
the count and marquis near the fireplace,--where a fire which
testified to an abundance of wood from the neighboring forest was
blazing,--Petit-Pierre, thoughtful or dreamy as the reader chooses,
went straight to the window and rested his forehead against the glass.
An instant later, as the marquis was making sundry compliments to the
count on his young companion, the latter's name, pronounced in a curt,
imperious tone, made him start with astonishment.
Petit-Pierre called to Bonneville, who turned hastily and ran rather
than walked in the direction of the young peasant. The latter spoke
for some moments and seemed to be giving orders. At each sentence
uttered by the youth Bonneville bowed in token of assent, and as soon
as Petit-Pierre had ended what he had to say the count took his hat,
saluted every one present, and left the room.
Petit-Pierre then approached the marquis.
"Monsieur de Souday," he said, "I have just assured the Comte de
Bonneville that you will not object to his taking one of your horses
to make a trip to all the châteaus in the neighborhood and call a
meeting here at Souday, this evening, of those very men whom you
quarrelled with this morning. They are no doubt still assembled at
Saint-Philbert. I have therefore enjoined him to make haste."
"But," said the marquis, "some of those gentlemen must be affronted
with me for the manner in which I spoke to them this morning; they
will probably refuse to come to my house."
"An order shall be given to those who resist an invitation."
"An order! from whom?" asked the marquis, in surprise.
"Why, from Madame la Duchesse de Berry, from whom M. de Bonneville has
full powers. But," said Petit-Pierre, with a certain hesitation,
"perhaps you fear that such a meeting at the château de Souday may
have some fatal result for you or for your family. In that case,
marquis, say so at once. The Comte de Bonneville has not yet started."
"God bless me!" cried the marquis, "let him go, and take my best
horse, and founder him if he chooses!"
The words had scarcely left his lips before the Comte de Bonneville,
as though he had heard them and meant to profit by the permission,
rode at full speed past the windows and through the great gates to the
main-road, which led to Saint-Philbert.
The marquis went to the window to follow the rider with his eyes, and
did not leave it until he was lost to sight. Then he turned to speak
to Petit-Pierre; but Petit-Pierre had disappeared, and when the
marquis asked his daughters where he was they answered that the young
man had gone to his room, remarking that he had letters to write.
"Queer little fellow!" muttered the marquis to himself.