"And then?" asked Paul amused.
"Why, monsieur, of course we should have dictated terms at Berlin, instead of being massacred by the hated Prussians at Sedan."
"But never mind, a time will come—a time will come—les Bosches nous les aurons, mon Dieu! Nous avons plus que quinze centmille braves—brave comme des lions—Diable!
"But messieurs, they are not eating, and they are positively allowing the Mousselmes de Volaille a l'Indienne to get cold," and the great man nearly wept in despair.
"Mille tonnerres!" he would exclaim, "Les messieurs have eaten their pudding glacé amilcar without blending the flavour with my special brand of Veuve Clicot. Mais c'est terrible!" and he ran off to order the sommelier to fetch the bottle. "And now," he said, "I will call the garçon to fetch you each a cup of my extra special coffee. Such coffee, messieurs, you will not obtain in any other house in Paris. I have spent years in experimenting with the different varieties of coffee beans to discover the most perfect blend."
"Can you give us the recipe?" enquired Pierre and Paul together.
"Oh, messieurs, you would surely not rob a man of the fruit of his labours; but I can tell you this much—there are six varieties of the coffee berries in it, and the discovery and correct blending of these different beans is the outcome of a lifetime of study. The moment I become convinced that any chef produces a superior coffee to mine, I shall put an end to myself, for I shall be too mortified to survive the disgrace."
It was past midnight when our two friends left the restaurant. They strolled for some distance along the boulevards watching the merry crowds of midnight revellers who seem never to be tired of chatting together. Some might be seen in groups round the marble tables under the awnings of the cafés facing the pavement, while others again could be seen inside the heated rooms listening to the strains of some Hungarian band playing their weird Czardas.
Here and there a group of shop girls might be seen hurrying home with rapid footsteps, or dawdling in front of the shop windows, while the ceaseless flow of vehicles and passengers gave the stranger the idea that Paris never went to bed at all.