"Alas!" said the count; "you make me regret now what I cared little for a moment ago."
Petit-Pierre laughed; and then, for the purpose of keeping up his companion's heart, he cried out gayly:--
"Bonneville, call the usher and let him notify the chamberlain on duty to order the stewards to bring my lunch-basket. I would like one of those snipe I hear whistling about us."
"Her Royal Highness is served," said the count, kneeling on one knee, and offering on the top of his hat an object which Petit-Pierre seized eagerly.
"Bread!" he cried.
"Black bread," said Bonneville.
"Oh, no matter! I can't see the color at night."
"Dry bread! doubly dry!"
"But it is bread, at any rate."
And Petit-Pierre set his handsome teeth into the crust, which had been drying in the count's pocket for the last two days.