Har. Eight or ten; but you must only reckon for eight. When there is enough for eight, there is enough for ten.
Val. That is evident.
Jac. Very well, then; you must have four tureens of soup and five side dishes; soups, entrées …
Har. What! do you mean to feed a whole town?
Jac. Roast …
Har. (clapping his hand on Master Jacques' mouth). Ah! Wretch! you are eating up all my substance.
Jac. Entremêts …
Har. (again putting his hand on Jacques' mouth). More still?
Val. (to Jacques). Do you mean to kill everybody? And has your master invited people in order to destroy them with over-feeding? Go and read a little the precepts of health, and ask the doctors if there is anything so hurtful to man as excess in eating.
Har. He is perfectly right.