“I say—er—servant, give me some of that dish they’re passing over there.”
But Baptiste, still in ill humor, walked away, muttering between his teeth:
“I’ve got something else to do. How all these people eat! There won’t be anything left for us!”
Monin, his appeal being disregarded by Baptiste, decided to apply to Domingo, to whom he gave his plate, saying:
“Negro, just ask for a little of that shiny stuff for—for a person.”
Domingo presented the plate to Monsieur Destival, who was serving the Roman punch.
“A little shiny stuff,” he said, “for little man with big nose.”
Everybody laughed, Madame Monin alone taking it very ill that the negro should presume so to designate her husband; and she vented her wrath on a third dish of cream, saying to Monsieur Bisbis:
“I’d rather be served by four chimney-sweeps than a negro.”
After the coffee and the liqueurs, they left the table in about as hilarious a mood as when they sat down; that is to say, everyone was bored, as is usually the case at a formal dinner. But the people invited for the evening were already coming in crowds; and Destival was enchanted, because there was hardly room to move, and everyone exclaimed: