At this moment the landlord entered with a fried egg, which he brought to Jack without giving more than one sullen glance to the boisterous officer. This neglect wounded the gentleman's dignity; he strode across the room and, lifting his whip, spluttered:
"Insolent dog! Don't you hear? I order you to bring me food, and, palsambleu! you had better hurry. What do you mean by keeping an officer of the emperor waiting while you serve a beggarly tradesman?"
"In a moment, Señor," said the landlord, setting the dish before Jack.
"Would the noble marquis like my egg?" said Jack meekly in bad French.
"Egg!" The officer snorted his contempt for such frugal fare. "Look you, landlord, I want soup to begin with, and then a mayonnaise—sweet olive-oil, mind you—and a capon well basted to follow, and—"
"Señor, Señor," interrupted the landlord, "I've not any such things on the premises. Your dragoons have eaten me up already. I can give you an omelet—"
"An omelet! Morbleu, landlord! If you don't hurry with something more substantial than an omelet I'll slice your fat cheeks into collops."
A Question of Supply
He glared at the Spaniard and laid his hand on his sword; and the landlord, giving up all attempt to preserve his dignity further, scuttled through the door leading to his kitchen.