The young people merrily pursued their way, already amused with the procession of carriages, horses, carts, and pedestrians, like themselves, all taking the same direction. On arriving at Saint Cloud, they commenced with a simple breakfast, the greater part of their little treasure being reserved for their evening meal. They then took a survey of the booths, admired the cascades, listened to the bands, marvelled at the conjurors, and even laughed at Punch's buffoonery, as the numerous spectators of this fête are annually accustomed to do at the same season of the year. They several times fell in with a troop of young men, pupils of a different master, and their rivals in glory and talent. These two studios were jealous and inimical, as well from party spirit as from a sentiment of attachment to their masters; and this animosity had been manifested in more than one encounter of class against class, for there existed between them no individual aversion. On this occasion, they looked at each other with an expression of irony.
"Oh, oh!" cried José's companions, "here are the Princes of Babocheux and Flou-flou."[6]
"Yes, gentlemen," replied the others, "ready to admire your Croûtes aux épinards."[7]
Each made a grimace; but they separated without saying anything more.
Returned to the inn, after having wandered about for a considerable time, José and his companions were prepared to enjoy a repast, dainty to them, from their simple habits; and they contemplated it with a degree of satisfaction, which would have made many young people, spoiled either by fortune or by their parents, shrug their shoulders with contempt. Their table was laid in what was called the garden, a small enclosure surrounded by walls, and covered with a trellis work, ornamented with honey-suckle and vine. This spot was capable of containing five or six tables, separated by partitions, also of trellis work, and though very warm, still there was a little more air there than in the house; besides the circumstances of the guests permitted them no choice, and our young students were therefore very well satisfied at being so comfortably located.
As may be imagined, there was no lack of conversation; this turned at first upon their good cheer, which they had time enough to enjoy, as the waiters were so much occupied, that they allowed full half an hour to intervene between each course.
"Well! Angevin, my friend," said Francisco,—for José's protection had caused him to be received into the party,—"what do you think of this Marinade?[8] something better than your usual fare, hey!"
"I should think so," replied the Angevin, holding out his plate for the third or fourth time. "Plague take the stew, I shan't touch it to-morrow."
"What!" cried the young folks, laughing; "what do you mean by the stew?"
"Oh! nothing, nothing," replied the Angevin, already regretting his indiscretion; but his companions insisting, and José joining in their request, he told them, laughingly, that, finding it impossible to live in Paris in any other than the most economical manner, he had ended, after trying various plans, by purchasing a large stew-pan and an earthen stove. He filled it once a week with turnips, potatoes, and a few slices of bacon, which he boiled altogether, and this ragout, which was hot only for the first time, served him for dinner during the whole week. He was so much accustomed to call it his stew, that the word had inadvertently escaped him in the presence of his companions.