"We are, I see, to have a downright Belshazzar's feast, Dame Bertrand?" said Agricola, laughing.
"Faith, a feast like we have always, my lad. Here is our bill of fare for to-day. A good vegetable soup, roast beef with potatoes, salad, fruit, cheese; and for extras, it being Sunday, some currant tarts made by Mother Denis at the bakehouse, where the oven is heating now."
"What you tell me, Dame Bertrand, gives me a furious appetite," said Agricola, gayly. "One soon knows when it is your turn in the kitchen," added he, with a flattering air.
"Get along, do!" said the female Soyer on service, merrily.
"What astonishes me, so much, M. Agricola," said Angela, as they continued their walk, "is the comparison of the insufficient, unwholesome food of the workmen in our country, with that which is provided here."
"And yet we do not spend more than twenty-five sous a day, for much better food than we should get for three francs in Paris."
"But really it is hard to believe, M. Agricola. How is it possible?"
"It is thanks to the magic wand of M. Hardy. I will explain it all presently."
"Oh! how impatient I am to see M. Hardy!"
"You will soon see him—perhaps to-day; for he is expected every moment. But here is the refectory, which you do not yet know, as your family, like many others, prefer dining at home. See what a fine room, looking out on the garden, just opposite the fountain!"