The house that Lansade had purchased for his retirement was one of those ordinary country mansions which are so dear to the petits bourgeois of Paris. Situated on the summit of a small eminence, it could be seen at a considerable distance. This modest elevation had been preferred by the merchant to sites of a more commanding description, and which could have been obtained at a more advantageous price. The fortunate purchaser was persuaded that all persons who journeyed from Paris to Versailles, and from Versailles to Paris, would eagerly inquire,—
“To whom does that pretty piece of property belong? Who resides in that charming cottage on the hill yonder?”
And then some well-informed traveller would respond,—
“It is the chateau of M. Lansade, a very rich merchant, who has retired from business.”
This idea seemed to fascinate Lansade, and he was never weary of trying to improve the aspect of his house.
The “retired merchant” was seated in front of his mansion, watching for the arrival of his guests, in order to enjoy their astonishment at the sight of his splendid establishment. As soon as he caught sight of them, he shouted,—
“Hurry, my young friends; breakfast is waiting. I had ceased to look for you, upon my word. I was about to go to the table. What do you think of my little establishment?”
The painter and Bonnaud went into ecstasies, the first for politeness, and the second in honest admiration. Eusebe was silent. After considerable trifling chat, the party seated themselves at the table.
Those who reside in the suburbs of Paris are wholly ignorant of the charms of a rural repast: they live as they would live in the city. Those who live on the borders of the Seine eat no other fish than those purchased in the market of Paris. Let any one who does not credit this singularity go to Asnières or to Chaton, and he will be convinced.
Lansade pressed his guests to satisfy their appetite, and made earnest inquiries as to the quality of the dishes.