"In any case," observed Passedix, "you wouldn't offer your tenants boiled eggs, I trust; for these are as hard as rocks—like Easter eggs."
"Oh! what a tease you are, monsieur le chevalier! But I think that you know very little about cooking!"
"Sandioux! Dame Cadichard—on the contrary, I know a great deal about it. My godfather Chaudoreille used to give his friends banquets that lasted a whole week; I remember that he used to have delicacies from the four quarters of the globe, and he was not satisfied unless his guests had indigestion.—If Monsieur de Carvajal has no restaurant to which he is attached, I could take him to a cabaret where they serve the most delicious calves' heads, and stewed rabbits en crapaudine—you would swear they were hares."
"I thank you, chevalier; but I do not take my meals at wine shops."
"I understand—I understand. You prefer darkness and mystery, with some fair lady who awaits you in her petite maison; for we have ladies who have them, as well as men; I know something about it, for I have supped in more than one of those enchanting retreats—near Porte Saint-Antoine, on the other side of the Fossés Jaunes. I am not inquisitive, I do not mean to ask you indiscreet questions; but, between us, monsieur le comte, I will take the liberty to give you a piece of advice; it is this: it is not very safe in certain quarters of Paris at night; people are attacked, robbed, and sometimes murdered, without anyone interfering to prevent it. I warn you of this, because our landlady told me that you went out very late, and returned at very advanced hours of the night. That is imprudent! extremely imprudent!"
"Ah! madame told you that, did she?" rejoined the stranger, with a glance at Widow Cadichard that arrested one of the pieces of toast on its way to her mouth.
"I," murmured the little woman—"I said—that is—no, I said nothing. I don't know why monsieur le chevalier brings me into all the fables he invents. He would do better to pay the rent he owes me!"
"What is that, Widow Cadichard? I believe that you dared to say that I invent!—Cadédis! that is too much! I, invent anything!—I suppose that you didn't tell me also just now that monsieur had asked you for a duplicate key to the street door, so that he could go in and out at night without disturbing anyone; and that he had forbidden Popelinette to sit up for him; and that it was the fashion in Spain to walk the streets at night? To which I replied that it was not so warm in France as in the beautiful land of the Andalusians.—Ah! I invented all that—sandioux! If all that I have just said was not told me by you, I hope that this egg will choke me while I speak!—Look! didn't I tell you that they were all hard? But I am an ignoramus, I don't know anything about cooking. And this one is just the same; as they all are!"
As he spoke, the Gascon took up an egg and dexterously stripped it of its shell; after which, he made but one mouthful of it, and was about to do as much with a second one, when the landlady angrily pounced on the plate in which the others were and put it in her lap, saying:
"Well, monsieur, have you nearly finished swallowing my eggs as if they were little tarts? Really, you don't stand on ceremony! If it wasn't for my respect for monsieur le comte, I would tell you what I think of your conduct."