“Not these herbs, they are not nice.” Chicot, seizing the plate, threw it after the water, and then cried, “Maître Claude.”
The host appeared.
“M. Claude, bring me two bottles of your Romanée, which you call so good.”
“Why two bottles,” said Gorenflot, “as I do not drink it?”
“Oh! if you did I would have four or six, but if I drink alone, two will do for me.”
“Indeed; two bottles are reasonable, and if you eat no meat with it, your confessor will have nothing to reproach you with.”
“Oh, of course not; meat on a Friday in Lent!” And going to the larder, he drew out a fine capon.
“What are you doing, brother?” said Gorenflot, following his movements with interest.
“You see I am taking this carp.”
“Carp!” cried Gorenflot.