"Philosophy," muttered Balsamo, for he had expected the speaker would sigh.
The master opened the dining-room door.
"Labrie, serve us as if you were a hundred men in one. I have no other lackey, and he is bad. But I cannot afford another. This dolt has lived with me nigh twenty years without taking a penny of wages, and he is worth it. You will see he is stupid."
"Heartless," Balsamo continued his studies; "unless he is putting it on."
The dining-room was the large main room of a farmhouse which
had been converted into the manor. It was so plainly furnished as to seem empty. A small, round table was placed in the midst, on which reeked one dish, a stew of game and cabbage. The wine was in a stone jar; the battered, worn and tarnished plate was composed of three plates, a goblet and a salt dish; the last, of great weight and exquisite work, seemed a jewel of price amid the rubbish.
"Ah, you let your gaze linger on my salt dish?" said the host. "You have good taste to admire it. You notice the sole object presentable here. No, I have another gem, my daughter——"
"Mademoiselle Andrea?"
"Yes," said Taverney, astonished at the name being known; "I shall present you. Come, Andrea, my child, and don't be alarmed."
"I am not, father," said a sonorous but melodious voice as a maiden appeared, who seemed a lovely pagan statue animated.