"'Puisse-je te rappeler loin des brouillards maudits.
Vers la France, sainte mere et nourrice!
Reviens a Lutece, de l'art vrai paradis,
Je t'evoque, O Monsieur Narcisse!
Quitte les saignants bifteks, de tes mains sublimes
Gueris le sein meurtri de ta mere!
Detourne ton glaive trenchant de tes freles victimes
Vers l'Albion et sa triste Megere.'"
"Dear me, it sounds a little like some other Parisian odes I have read recently," said Lady Considine. "The triste Megere, I take it, is poor old Britannia, but what does he mean by his freles victimes?"
"No doubt they are the pigeons and the rabbits, and the chickens and the capons which Narcisse is supposed to have slaughtered in hecatombs, in order to gorge the brutal appetite of his English employer," said Miss Macdonnell. "After disregarding such an appeal as this M. Narcisse had better keep clear of Paris for the future, for if he should go back and be recognised I fancy it would be a case of 'conspuvez Narcisse."'
"The French seem to have lost all sense of exactness," said Mrs. Gradinger, "for the lines you have just read would not pass muster as classic. In the penultimate line there are two syllables in excess of the true Alexandrine metre, and the last line seems too long by one. Neither Racine nor Voltaire would have taken such liberties with prosody. I remember a speech in Phaedre of more than a hundred lines which is an admirable example of what I mean. I dare say some of you know it. It begins:—
"Perfide! oses-tu bien te montrer devant moi? Monstre,"
but before the reciter could get fairly under way the door mercifully opened, and Sir John entered. He advanced towards the Marchesa, and shook her warmly by the hand, but said nothing; his heart was evidently yet too full to allow him to testify his relief in words. He was followed closely by the Colonel, who, taking his stand on the hearth-rug, treated the company to a few remarks, couched in a strain of unwonted eulogy. In the whole course of his life he had never passed a more pleasant ten days, though, to be sure, he had been a little mistrustful at first. As to the outcome of the experiment, if they all made even moderate use of the counsels they had received from the Marchesa, the future of cookery in England was now safe. He was not going to propose a formal vote of thanks, because anything he could say would be entirely insufficient to express the gratitude he felt, and because he deemed that each individual could best thank the Marchesa on his or her behalf.
There was a momentary silence when the Colonel ceased, and then a clearing of the throat and a preliminary movement of the arms gave warning that Mrs. Gradinger was going to speak. The unspoken passage from Racine evidently sat heavily on her chest. Abstracted and overwrought as he was, these symptoms aroused in Sir John a consciousness of impending danger, and he rushed, incontinent, into the breach, before the lady's opening sentence was ready.
"As Colonel Trestrail has just remarked, we, all of us, are in debt to the Marchesa in no small degree; but, in my case, the debt is tenfold. I am sure you all understand why. As a slight acknowledgment of the sympathy I have received from every one here, during my late trial, I beg to ask you all to dine with me this day week, when I will try to set before you a repast a la Francaise, which I hope may equal, I cannot hope that it will excel, the dinners all'Italiana we have tasted in this happy retreat. Narcisse and I have already settled the menu."
"I am delighted to accept," said the Marchesa. "I have no engagement, and if I had I would throw my best friend over."
"And this day fortnight you must all dine with me," said Mrs. Sinclair. "I will spend the intervening days in teaching my new cook how to reproduce the Marchesa's dishes. Then, perhaps, we may be in a better position to decide on the success of the Marchesa's experiment."