"Bless us! you have a good cook."
"I do not know, for this is his first attempt to please us. I engaged him because he has a reputation for a choice omelet of pheasants' eggs."
"My favorite dish! I should not like to grieve your new cook, countess, and I might taste it while we wait for the governor to finish his inspection. But who will wait upon us?" he asked, entering.
"I hope to do so without upsetting any of this iced champagne—a new invention, of which I wish your opinion."
"I fear I shall never take it from your hand, for it fascinates me into solely admiring it."
"Ah, if my hired eulogists would say something so sweet as that!"
"I see that I must let you have your own way," and he settled down in an easy chair like one who was put in good humor by the prospect of a luxurious repast.
They finished it with coffee burnt in brandy, with a paper which the king held while the fair cajoler lighted.
"That is bad luck to the Choiseul party," said she; "that was one of the lampoons against us which they inspire and allow to be circulated."
"Did I call you a fay? I mistook: you are a demon."