‘There is Andrien,’ said Papa Prevost; ‘you had some hopes of him?’
‘He is too young; I took him to Hellingsley, and he lost his head on the third day. I entrusted the soufflées to him, and, but for the most desperate personal exertions, all would have been lost. It was an affair of the bridge of Areola.’
‘Ah! mon Dieu! those are moments!’ exclaimed Prevost. ‘Gaillard and Abreu will not serve under you, eh? And if they would, they could not be trusted. They would betray you at the tenth hour.’
‘What I want are generals of division, not commanders-in-chief. Abreu is sufficiently bon garçon, but he has taken an engagement with Monsieur de Sidonia, and is not permitted to go out.’
‘With Monsieur de Sidonia! You once thought of that, my Leander. And what is his salary?’
‘Not too much; four hundred and some perquisites. It would not suit me; besides, I will take no engagement but with a crowned head. But Abreu likes travelling, and he has his own carriage, which pleases him.’
‘There are Philippon and Dumoreau,’ said Prevost; ‘they are very safe.’
‘I was thinking of them,’ said Leander, ‘they are safe, under you. And there is an Englishman, Smit, he is chef at Sir Stanley’s, but his master is away at this moment. He has talent.’
‘Yourself, four chefs, with your marmitons; it would do,’ said Prevost.
‘For the kitchen,’ said Leander; ‘but who is to dress the tables?’