"What, the fidelity of your master?"
"Yes, my lord; and I am sure you will be faithful, because you live alone, without family, and, by condition as well as character, you have not, like so many others, all sorts of inclinations which always bore or annoy one; as a serious and convinced man, you have only one passion, but profound, absolute, and that is gluttony. Well, this passion, I offer, my lord, to satisfy, as you have never been satisfied in your life."
"You talk of gold, my dear friend, but do you know that, to make good your claims, in the use of such extravagant language, you must have great talent,—prodigious talent?"
"This great, this prodigious talent I have, my lord."
"Your avowal is not modest."
"It is sincere, and you know, sir, that one may employ a legitimate assurance, from the consciousness of his power."
"I like this noble pride, my dear friend, and if your acts respond to your words, you are a superior person."
"Sir, put me to trial to-day, this hour."
"To-day, this hour!" cried the canon, shrugging his shoulders. "You do not know, then, that for two accursed months I have been in this deplorable state; that there is nothing I can taste; that this morning I have left untouched a breakfast ordered from Chevet, who supplies me until my kitchen is well appointed. Ah, if you did not have the appearance of an honest man, I would think you came to insult my misery,—proposing to cook for me when I am never the least hungry."
"Sir, my name is Appetite."