“None; I know no one.”
“Allons, then,” said he, gayly, taking my arm. And I soon found myself descending the marble stairs beside the man I had expected to stand opposed to in deadly conflict a few hours later.
CHAPTER XXV. THE SUPPER AT “BEAUVILLIERS'S”
“Where to?,” asked the coachman, as we entered the calèche.
“Beauvilliers,” said the marquis, throwing himself back in his seat, and remaining for some minutes silent.
At last, as if suddenly recollecting that we were strangers to each other, he said, “You know Beauvilliers, of course?”
“No,” replied I, with hesitation; “I really have not any acquaintance.”
“Parbleu,” said he, laughing, “you ought at least to have his friendship. He is the most celebrated restaurateur of this or any other age; no one has carried the great art of the cuisine to a higher perfection, and his cellars are unequalled in Paris. But you shall pronounce for yourself.”
“Unhappily my judgment is of little value. Do you forget that the diet roll of the Polytechnique is a bad school for gastronomy?”