“Yes, monsieur, I can easily get some.”
“And a fowl?”
“I have one which should be excellent.”
“Fresh eggs?”
“Oh! as to eggs, I don’t have any but fresh ones.”
“Well, that is all that we want; with lettuce and some of your best wine we shall dine very well, shall we not, mesdames?”
“Yes, but don’t keep us waiting, for we are positively starving.”
“Never fear, mesdames, it will take but a moment.”
Master Bonneau returned to his staff.
“Look alive,” he said, tying his handkerchief around his waist, which he only did on great occasions; “look alive, wife and girls, we have swells to feed, and we have nothing except the regulation rabbit stew, which unfortunately they don’t want, and that infernal fowl which I roasted a week ago for a Jew who ate nothing but fresh pork, and which I haven’t been able to do anything with since; I hope that it is going to be eaten at last. Goton, put it on the spit again; that will be the fifth time, I believe; but never mind, I will make a gravy with the juice of that beef à la mode, and it will be delicious.”