"His Majesty the King of England's
chef," the great man deigned to repeat, smiling kindly at the astonishment the young man showed at this revelation.
"You must know, my friend, that to-morrow the President of the Republic is to be His Majesty's guest in this town. The activity of the German airmen obliges us to keep the programme secret till the last moment. However, I have been sent out in advance with Sir Charles to inspect the British Officers' Club, where the lunch is to take place. You are to accompany me there."
So they set off for the former Château de Vauclère, now transformed by British genius for comfort into an officers' club, Aurelle escorting the royal cook and the equerry, who was an old English gentleman with a pink face, white whiskers and grey spats. Above their heads circled the squadron of aeroplanes which had been ordered to protect the favoured city.
During the drive, M. Lucas condescended to say a few words of explanation.
"Our lunch is to be quite informal; the menu very simple—ever since the beginning of the war His Majesty has expressed a wish to be rationed like his people—river trout, tournedos aux pommes, some fruit, and cider to drink."
"But, Monsieur Lucas," interrupted Sir Charles timidly, "you know Her Majesty prefers to drink milk."
"The Queen will drink cider like every one else," replied the chef curtly.
Sir Charles was charmed with the paved courtyard of the château, the brick and stone façade with its carved escutcheons, the simple curves of the dining-room panelling, and the picture over the door, which he attributed, not without reason, to Nattier.
"It's very, very small," murmured M. Lucas pensively. "However, as it's war-time——"