Aldegonde summoned the cook, who appeared at once.
"What did you put in your cream, Goth? it has a most peculiar taste."
"I put in what I always do, madame: milk, whites of eggs, a little of vanilla—I didn't have much of that to put in, my word!"
"And sugar?"
"Yes, the candied sugar monsieur gave me wrapped up in paper; I put it all in."
"Ah! I know what it smells of!" cried Dodichet; "it's camphor; your cream is flavored with camphor!"
"What does this mean, Monsieur Mirotaine?" said Aldegonde, looking sternly at her husband; "was it camphor you gave Goth, instead of sugar?"
"If it was, I must have taken the wrong package," said Mirotaine, slightly embarrassed. "As a matter of fact, I have several packages of camphor in my desk—and I must have mixed them with the sugar."
"There is no further doubt, monsieur, that it was camphor you gave the servant."
"Luckily, we know that it isn't injurious," said Dodichet. "Come on! let's open the champagne; that will help us to forget the camphor."