“That’s very kind of you,” said his lordship, giving his orders to the colonel, and inquiring, at the same time, about a very important telegraphic despatch.
“But I must again tell you, as I mentioned once before, you will not find my cook a first-rate cordon bleu.”
“Well, my lord, no doubt he does his best, according to the quality of the provisions, which, your lordship must be aware, are not first-rate. At all events, I shall trust this marvel to his skill; and if he does it to a turn, as he has promised, he will prove the correctness of my countryman’s words—Brillat Savarin—who says, in his Physiologie du Goût, ‘On devient cuisinier, mais on est nait rôtisseur.’”
“That is a charming work of Savarin’s,” said his lordship. “Well, Soyer,” continued he, “this certainly looks like English beef. Where does it come from?”
“From Alexandria, my lord. I dined the other day on board the Etna, and we had a splendid piece of roast beef for dinner. I at once claimed a portion for your lordship’s table; and the captain ordered the best piece to be put by—and here it is.”
“Very kind of him, very kind—and of you too, Monsieur Soyer.” As Lord Raglan said this, he turned and gave his orders to Colonel Steele.
“Have you found your pony?”
“I believe so. I hear it is in the stables of the 93rd Regiment, and I am going to look for it directly.”
“You are lucky,” said he; “for some fellows have actually stolen thirty live sheep and several mules from here.”
“Have they indeed?”