“Have you kitchens here?”
“Kitchens?—of course—complete ones.”
“And cooks?”
“Excellent!”
“Well, a fowl, fish, game,—it signifies little, so that I eat.”
“As your excellency pleases. You mentioned a fowl, I think?”
“Yes, a fowl.”
Peppino, turning around, shouted, “A fowl for his excellency!” His voice yet echoed in the archway when a handsome, graceful, and half-naked young man appeared, bearing a fowl in a silver dish on his head, without the assistance of his hands.
“I could almost believe myself at the Café de Paris,” murmured Danglars.
“Here, your excellency,” said Peppino, taking the fowl from the young bandit and placing it on the worm-eaten table, which with the stool and the goat-skin bed formed the entire furniture of the cell. Danglars asked for a knife and fork.