The servant went to her master, and explained the matter so fully that the mayor, understanding nothing about it, decided at last to leave his guests for a moment, and to go to his audience room.
In those days, the mayor of the village was not a genius; he had just had a summer-house built at the foot of his garden; and as he was delighted with that little building, the idea of which he himself had conceived, and which he seemed to fear that people would think that he had seen somewhere else, he had caused to be written over the door: “This Summer-House was Built Here.”
Profound silence reigned in the assemblage when the mayor appeared.
“Where is the fowl which is the subject of dispute?” he asked gravely.
“Monsieur le maire, it isn’t a fowl simply, it is a dinner that they refuse to pay me for,” said Master Bonneau, stepping forward.
“A dinner! That’s a matter of some consequence! Did they eat it?”
“No, monsieur,” said Edouard, “and you see in this fowl a specimen of it.”
“Examine the bill, monsieur le maire, and you will see that it is perfectly fair.”
“Let us see the bill—fresh eggs——”
“They were hard.”