Her ladyship was just in the ante-room, where breakfast was usually served.
While Topándy was explaining to Lorand the various quarters from which he might choose a bedroom, her ladyship had got the coffee ready, for déjeuner, and had laid the fine tablecloth on the round table, on which had been placed three cups, and just so many knives, forks and napkins.
As Topándy stepped into the room, letting Lorand in after him, her ladyship was engaged in pouring out the coffee from the silver pot into the cups, while the rich buffalo milk boiled away merrily on the glittering white tripod before her. Topándy placed himself in the nearest seat, leaving Lorand to stand and wait until her ladyship had time to weigh out his rations for him.
"That is not your place!" exclaimed the fair lady.
Topándy sprang up suddenly.
"Pardon. Whose place is this?"
"That gentleman's!" she answered, and nodded at Lorand, both her hands being occupied.
"Please take a seat, sir," said Topándy, making room for Lorand.
"You will always sit there," said the lady, putting down the coffee-pot and pointing to the place which had been laid on her left. "At breakfast, at dinner, at supper."
This had a different sound from what the gentleman of the house had said. Rather different from garlic and black bread.