“True, you are right; luckily there are no eggs in a rabbit stew, and it isn’t cooked by the minute.”
“So you must tell me what you think of it; I will go now and make sure that your fowl is cooked to a turn.”
Bonneau left the room, carrying his hard boiled eggs, which no one had touched, and which he proceeded to cut up and place on the salad, so that they would be paid for twice over; that was a clear gain; and in order that there might not be any further complaint of their smelling of the straw, the host took from his sideboard a certain oil, the taste of which was bound to predominate.
“Well,” said Edouard, as he prepared to serve the ladies, “as we absolutely must eat rabbit stew, let us see if this one does our host credit. But what the deuce is there in it? It is a string. Can it be that the pupil of the Boisseau Fleuri puts whole rabbits into his stew? This is attached to something, and I don’t see the end of it. Parbleu! we shall get the pieces that are tied, later. But what is this I see? Look, mesdames—is it a thigh, or a head? These rabbits are most peculiarly constructed.”
“Oh! bless my soul!” said Adeline, examining what Edouard had on his fork, “it’s a cup-and-ball!”
The young woman dropped her fork, laughing like mad; Edouard did the same, and even Madame Germeuil could not keep a straight face, at sight of the toy which her son-in-law had found in the stew.
The reader will remember that at the time of the arrival of the fashionable guests from Paris, everything was in confusion in the restaurant; the scullion was playing with a cup-and-ball; when his mistress burned herself and upset the tub of water, Fanfan was alarmed, and fearing to be scolded by his master and mistress, had thrust his cup-and-ball into the first saucepan that he saw. It happened to be the one containing the rabbit stew, into which the scullion had put his toy. When Master Bonneau took the saucepan later, he covered it without looking in; then the little fellow had watched and stirred the stew, without a suspicion of what was in it; he was very far from thinking that he was cooking his own cup-and-ball.
“Aha!” said the host, “it seems that our friends are satisfied; I was sure that that rabbit stew would restore their good humor. So much the better! the result will be that the fowl will pass the more readily. We must make haste and serve it with the salad. Goton, give me the bottle of oil. That’s it. Have you put the eggs on yet? on the top of the salad? Good! that’s very good. This meal will bring us in enough to last a week.”
Our man returned to the dining-room, where they had made up their minds to laugh instead of dining. He placed the fowl on the table and stood silent, with the air of a man who expects a compliment.
“On my word, monsieur le traiteur,” said Edouard, trying to keep a sober face, “you treat us very strangely! What kind of a thing is a fricassée of cup-and-ball?”