“Yes,” put in König, “or they will not thrive.”
“What? Not thrive? Peas will always turn out well if properly attended to,” said the colonel’s wife, with a touch of asperity.
“I fear I must contradict you, my gracious lady,” retorted the captain. “Last year’s did not turn out well anywhere.”
“They must be sowed at moonlight, and not a word be spoken, then they will do finely, every time,” said the Frau Colonel, eagerly. “But don’t imagine that I am superstitious. I am simply stating a fact.”
It was a bold thing to do, for whatever the colonel’s wife said must not be gainsaid, yet Lieutenant Bleibtreu could not help it. He laughingly said: “Sowing, therefore, bacon in between while the sun is shining, we’ll have one of my favorite dishes ready made.”
The colonel’s lady merely transfixed him with an envenomed stare. After a dramatic interval she resumed: “But, come to think of it, I myself won’t have leisure next week. My goose-liver pâtés are not yet finished.”
“You prepare them yourself?” asked the agricultural counsellor with deep interest.
“Of course. I do up six potfuls every year. The colonel dotes on this kind of stuff.”
“And where do you procure your truffles, may I ask? I am myself looking for a trustworthy person.”
“Truffles? Nonsense, it tastes every bit as good without them—that is all imagination.”