"Allons, then! Where shall we go; to the Trois Frères, or the Moulin Rouge, or the Maison Dorée?"
"The Trois Frères" said Müller, with the air of one who deliberates on the fate of nations, "has the disadvantage of being situated in the Palais Royal, where the band still continues to play at half-past five every afternoon. Now, music should come on with the sweets and the champagne. It is not appropriate with soup or fish, and it distracts one's attention if injudiciously administered with the made dishes,"
"True. Then shall we try the Moulin Rouge?"
Müller shook his head.
"At the Moulin Rouge" said he, gravely, "one can breakfast well; but their dinners are stereotyped. For the last ten years they have not added a new dish to their carte; and the discovery of a new dish, says Brillat Savarin, is of more importance to the human race than the discovery of a new planet. No--I should not vote for the Moulin Rouge."
"Well, then, Véfours, Véry's, the Café Anglais?"
"Véfours is traditional; the Café Anglais is infested with English; and at Véry's, which is otherwise a meritorious establishment, one's digestion is disturbed by the sight of omnivorous provincials, who drink champagne with the rôti, and eat melon at dessert."
Dalrymple laughed outright.
"At this rate," said he, "we shall get no dinner at all! What is to become of us, if neither Véry's, nor the Trois Frères, nor the Moulin Rouge, nor the Maison Dorée...."
"Halte-là!" interrupted the student, theatrically; "for by my halidom, sirs, I said not a syllable in disparagement of the house yelept Dorée! Is it not there that we eat of the crab of Bordeaux, succulent and roseate? Is it not there that we drink of Veuve Cliquot the costly, and of that Johannisberger, to which all other hocks are vinegar and water? Never let it be said that Franz Müller, being of sound mind and body, did less than justice to the reputation of the Maison Dorée."