"Bless my heart! What an idea! It is a day's journey! Think of the trouble and discomfort of getting there!"
"Think of the new inventions of the Parisian cuisine; for they invent new dishes, my Cousin Maurice has told me, as often as they originate new fashions for dress. There are abundance of novel dishes every day issuing from the brains of accomplished cooks,—dishes of which you have never even heard. You really ought to taste some of them."
"That's a consideration,—positively it is. I must reflect upon it!" replied her uncle.
"And Maurice seems to cling to the idea that my Cousin Madeleine"—continued Bertha.
"There, there, my dear; that will do! don't touch on that unpleasant subject, especially at dinner; it will certainly injure your digestive organs, and give you the blues for the rest of the day. I assure you, my child, all low spirits come from indigestion. I am convinced indigestion is one great cause of all the sadness and sorrow, and, I dare say, of all the sin in the world."
"It seems to me change of air must be very beneficial," replied Bertha, recovering from the false step she had been on the point of making.
"Very wisely remarked! Change of air is beneficial, and gentle exercise is beneficial: both stimulate the digestive faculties and keep up their healthy action. And you really think, my dear, you would like to taste some of those new Parisian dishes?"
"I should indeed!"
"Then you shall. I look upon it as criminal, in the present low state of your appetite, to thwart its faintest craving. Of course we cannot procure anything fit to sustain nature on the road to Paris, but I can make Pierre pack up a basket of refreshments, and a bottle of old wine, so that we shall not be poisoned on the way. If we can only make the journey comfortably, I have no objection to investigate the gastronomic novelties of which you have heard. I could take Lucien with us, that he might learn some new mysteries in his art."