“Really,” said Lorilleux, who was listening, “I don’t understand why the Government doesn’t come to the aid of the invalids of labor. I was reading that in a newspaper the other day.”
But Poisson thought it his duty to defend the Government.
“Workmen are not soldiers,” declared he. “The Invalides is for soldiers. You must not ask for what is impossible.”
Dessert was now served. In the centre of the table was a Savoy cake in the form of a temple, with a dome fluted with melon slices; and this dome was surmounted by an artificial rose, close to which was a silver paper butterfly, fluttering at the end of a wire. Two drops of gum in the centre of the flower imitated dew. Then, to the left, a piece of cream cheese floated in a deep dish; whilst in another dish to the right, were piled up some large crushed strawberries, with the juice running from them. However, there was still some salad left, some large coss lettuce leaves soaked with oil.
“Come, Madame Boche,” said Gervaise, coaxingly, “a little more salad. I know how fond you are of it.”
“No, no, thank you! I’ve already had as much as I can manage,” replied the concierge.
The laundress turning towards Virginie, the latter put her finger in her mouth, as though to touch the food she had taken.
“Really, I’m full,” murmured she. “There’s no room left. I couldn’t swallow a mouthful.”
“Oh! but if you tried a little,” resumed Gervaise with a smile. “One can always find a tiny corner empty. Once doesn’t need to be hungry to be able to eat salad. You’re surely not going to let this be wasted?”
“You can eat it to-morrow,” said Madame Lerat; “it’s nicer when its wilted.”