"What is there to eat? A Greek rose-garland," answered the old servant, with humourous phlegm.
"Ah, that must be delicious," returned Richard; "but what is it made of?"
"Angels' slippers," was the reply.
"Excellent! And is it ready?"
Paul surveyed his master from top to toe. "Do we eat at home again to-day?" he asked.
"Yes, if we can get anything to eat."
"Very well; I will serve dinner at once," answered Paul, and he proceeded to spread the table—which was accomplished by turning its red cloth, ornamented with blue flowers, so that it became a blue cloth adorned with red flowers. Then he laid a plate of faience ware and a horn-handled knife and fork, together with an old-fashioned silver spoon, first wiping each article on a corner of the table-cloth. He completed these preparations by adding an old champagne-bottle filled, as the reader will have guessed, with cold water.
The cavalry captain pulled up a chair and seated himself comfortably, stretching his legs out under the table. Meanwhile Paul, his hands on his hips, thus addressed his master:
"So we are stranded again, are we,—not a kreutzer in our pockets?"
"Not a solitary one, as sure as you live," answered Richard, as he took up his knife and fork and began to beat a tattoo on his plate.