"You will be thought an actual ogre, Edmund," Thérèse remonstrates, half laughing, half vexed. "You talk of nothing to-day but food."
"Perhaps so; but, as you will have observed, only from a lofty, strictly patriotic point of view," her husband remarks, composedly.
"Of course," Thérèse replies. "I can, however, assure you," she says, turning to her guests, "that although I cannot defend the Parisians in all respects, in one thing they are far beyond the Viennese: although they do not fall behind them in cookery, they think much less of things to eat."
"True," Edmund agrees, "and very naturally; they think less of their eating because they can't eat; they have no digestion. They certainly are a weak, degenerate race. Did you ever watch a regiment of French soldiers march past, ladies, either cavalry or infantry? It is quite pitiable, their military. Do you not think so?"
The Baroness cannot help admitting that he is measurably right this time, and as the widow of a soldier she indulges in a hymn of praise of the Austrian army, thus enchanting the Baron, who before entering the diplomatic corps served, to complete his education, in a cavalry regiment.
"I should really like to know why these people are in such a hurry," he begins again, after a while, calling attention to the speed with which dinner is being served. "I suppose the rascals intend to go to Valentino's after dinner."
"Their hurry will do them no good then," Thérèse remarks, shrugging her shoulders; "they will have to serve tea later in the evening. I simply suppose that they take it as a personal affront that we should converse in a language which they do not understand."
"Possibly," sighs Rohritz. "These Parisian lackeys are intolerable; their pretensions far outstrip our modest Austrian means. You may read plainly in their faces, 'I serve, 'tis true, but I adhere to the immortal principles of '89.' Every fellow is convinced that his period of servitude is only an intermezzo in his life, and that some fine day he shall be Duke of Persigny or Malakoff,--in short, a far grander gentleman than I. Am I not right, Thérèse?"
"Perfectly," his wife asserts. "But let me ask you one question, my dear: if you find Paris so inferior in everything, from Strasburg pie to the domestics, why did you not stay in Vienna?"
"Oh, that is another question,--quite a different question," Rohritz replies.