The dinner was perfect, every detail in absolute taste, served beautifully but with an elegant simplicity. Molly made mental notes on the sauce with the fish, trying to find out without asking what was in it; and then the gravy with the filet of beef occupied her attention. Such a wonderful gravy with a character all its own. She remembered what Edwin Green had told her of the Frenchman who was visiting America. When asked his impressions of the country, he had said: "America is a country with a thousand different religions and one sauce." She wondered what Miss Morse would think of this gravy, and smiled as she recalled the lecture on gravies delivered by that highly educated teacher of domestic science and the smooth, perfect specimen she demonstrated, with no more flavor than Miss Morse herself.
"What is the little joke my Cousin Mollee is having all to herself," asked the marquis.
Molly frankly confessed what had made her smile, since her cousin wanted to know, and of course in her confession praise of the gravy had to be included.
"Brava, brava," and the Marquis d'Ochtè clapped his hands. "She is like my Sara in all ways. She is also a discriminator in foods. This gravy, my dear Mademoiselle, is the chef d'[oe]uvre of my chef. You notice the butler, Jules, has left the room. Pourquoi does he go? He cannot wait to tell Gaston, the chef, that Madame's cousin from across the seas has been so gracious as to praise his work of art. If you will turn ever so little you will see the happy face of Gaston peeping in to view the beautiful young lady."
Molly turned, and sure enough, tip-toeing to see over the shoulder of Jules the butler, was Gaston, his face radiant.
"Molly is a wonderful cook herself," said Judy. "She has an instinct for food that is truly remarkable. At college an invitation to a Molly Brown spread was looked upon with greater reverence than being asked to have tea with the President. But has she not learned from Aunt Mary, that dear old colored woman who cooks like an angel? We trembled for fear that the domestic science teacher would ruin Molly's touch and make her too academic, but I hope it hasn't."
"Dear Aunt Mary, I had almost forgotten her!" exclaimed the marchioness. "Don't tell me you can make Aunt Mary's spoon corn bread, Molly! If you can, I'll make the Bents move out of their studio to-morrow so you can move in. And I'll come to live with you and get you to make me some for every meal until all the cornmeal to be purchased at the American grocers' is used up!"
"Indeed she can, Sally, and many things besides. Aunt Mary has initiated her into all the secrets of her trade," said Mrs. Brown. "I remember so well hearing the old woman say to Molly, when she was a little girl, 'Ef you wan' ter know how ter make bread, you have ter begin at de beginnin'. Now yeast is de fust an' maindest thing and tater yeast is the onliest kin' fit ter use, an' you can't git taters 'thout diggin' 'em; so fer the fust step, s'pose you go an' dig some taters.' So, you see, my Molly can do it all."
"Oh, how I love to hear about Aunt Mary!" sighed Philippe. "Am I to have some of this ambrosial bread, too, Cousin Molly?"
"Yes, indeed, but I am afraid the meal we get in Paris will not be right. Tell us, Cousin Sally, about the studio in the Rue Brea. Can we get it? We have had so many things to talk about, we have not asked you about it."