Chérubin was seated beside Madame Célival, who helped him to everything, but ate very little; by way of compensation, the young man ate for two. After he was at the table, he felt much less embarrassed, more inclined to talk; he concluded that he had guessed aright, and that to eat and drink freely would give him assurance; so he did honor to everything that was set before him and drank whatever was poured into his glass.
Madame Célival was very lively; she knew the art of keeping the conversation from flagging; and she seemed delighted by the way in which her companion did honor to the breakfast.
“Really,” she said laughingly, “I am not surprised that you didn’t say anything just now, that you seemed so taciturn! It was because you were dying of hunger.”
“It is true, madame, that I have an excellent appetite; and then, with you, it seems to me that one must needs always be hungry.”
“Oh! I don’t feel sure whether I ought to take that for a compliment or not! There is a proverb which would rather work against me.”
“What is the proverb, madame?”
“As you don’t know it, I won’t tell you.—Now, we will proceed to the dessert; I had it put within our reach, so that we need not ring; all we have to do is to change tables. Don’t you think that that is pleasanter?”
These last words were accompanied with such a tender glance that Chérubin was greatly confused; to recover his self-possession, he hastily pushed away the table on which they had breakfasted and replaced it by the smaller one on which the dessert was all set out.
Madame Célival, who was desirous that the breakfast should come to an end, made haste to serve her guest, and offered him everything. Chérubin scrutinized the compote of plums and asked:
“What is that?”