The table was delicately and abundantly served.
Around an enormous tureen of soup, made of the excellent sea eels of La Ciotat, and fragments of swordfish and sea dates, were fowls from the Pyrenees, which surrounded a perfectly roasted goose; on the other side, a saddle of lamb three months old, and the half of a kid one month old, justified by their appetising odour the culinary proverb: Cabri d’un mes, agneou de tres,—kid of one month, lamb of three; shell-fish of all kinds, such as oysters and mussels, having above all the flavour of the rock, as the Provençals say, filled the spaces left between substantial viands.
Side-dishes strongly salted and spiced, such as shrimps, lobsters, artichokes, celery, and tender fennel, formed a formidable reserve which Raimond V. called to his aid, when his appetite showed signs of exhaustion.
This profusion, which at first glance seemed so prodigal, was easily explained by the abundant resources of the country, the customary hospitality of the time, and the great number of persons a lord was expected to entertain.
Grace being said by the worthy Abbé Mascarolus, the baron, his daughter, and the chaplain sat down to the table, and Laramée took his usual post behind the chair of his master.
CHAPTER VIII. THE LOVER
The baron was scarcely seated, when he said:
“What in the devil is the matter with my head? Is Honorât not going to take supper with us?”
“He promised yesterday to do so,” said Reine.