“And M’sieu can not long remain away from us, forever?” said he.
“It has been three years, Jean,” said I, “more is the pity. But now, I can remain three hours—will that serve? At the end of that time we must away.”
Jean was human, yet discreet. He knew that when last he saw me I was a single man. Now he had doubts. He stood hovering about, a question on his tongue, smitten of admiration much as had been my dog, Partial, at his first sight of Helena. At last he made excuse to step close behind my chair under pretense of finding my napkin.
“Enfin, M’sieu?” said he, smiling.
“Pas encore, Jean!” I replied.
I saw a slow flush on Helena’s cheek, but she gave no other sign that she had overheard. So I began forthwith making much ado about ordering our supper, which as usual really was much a matter of Jean’s taste.
“We have to-night in the ice-boxes, M’sieu,” said that artist, “some cock oysters which are dreams. Moreover, I have laid aside two canvasbacks, the best I ever saw—it was in the hope that some really good friend of mine would come in. Behold, I am happy—I must have been expecting you. Believe me, we have never had better birds than these. They are excellent.”
“Perhaps the oysters, Jean,” said I, “very small and dark. I presume possibly a very small fillet of trout this evening, and the sauce—you still can make it, Jean? Such entrées as you like, of course. But, since Mademoiselle—” and here I smiled—“and I, also, are very hungry this evening, we wish a woodcock after the canvasback, if you do not mind. Perhaps it is not too much?”
“Mais non!” replied Jean. “You are of those who know well that to eat too much is not to dine well. But I shall bring you two oysters, marinière—a sauce my own wife invented. And yes, some small bird, beccasine, broiled lightly—perhaps you will enjoy it after the canvasback, although I assure you those are excellent indeed. We have few sweets here, as M’sieu knows, but cheese, if you like, and of course coffee; and always we have the red wine which I remember M’sieu liked so much.”
“It is with you, Jean,” said I. And Helena, turning, smiled upon him swiftly, in such fashion that he scarce touched the floor at all as he walked out for his radishes and olives.