At these words the dwarf danced with joy, blessed the day on which he had purchased the goose, and set about making this queen of pies. He first made a trial in miniature, and lo! the flavour was exquisite, and the master-cook, to whom he gave the small pie to taste, praised his great skill once more.
The following day he prepared the pie on a larger scale, and, after having garnished it with flowers, sent it hot as it came from the oven to table. After which he dressed in his best and went to the dining-hall. On entering he found the steward engaged in carving the pie, and presenting it on silver dishes to the duke and his guest. The duke swallowed a large piece, turned his eyes upward, saying ‘Ha! ha! ha! justly is this called the queen of pies; but my dwarf is also a king of cooks. Is it not so, my friend?’
His guest took a small morsel, tasted it carefully, and smiled somewhat scornfully and mysteriously.
‘The thing is made pretty well,’ he replied, pushing his plate away, ‘but it is not quite the Souzeraine, as I well imagined.’
At this the duke frowned with indignation, and turned red, saying, ‘You hound of a dwarf, how dare you do this to your lord? I will have your big head cut off as a punishment for your bad cooking.’
‘Ah, my lord,’ said the dwarf, trembling, ‘for Heaven’s sake have compassion on me; I have made that dish, indeed, according to the proper receipt, and am sure that nothing is wanting.’
‘’Tis a lie, you knave,’ replied the duke, giving him a kick, ‘’tis a lie, else my guest would not say there was something wanting. I will have you yourself cut up and baked in a pie.’
‘Have compassion on me!’ exclaimed the dwarf, shuffling on his knees up to the prince, and clasping his feet; ‘tell me what is wanting to this pie and why it does not suit your palate: let me not die for a handful of meat or flour.’
‘This will not avail you, my good Nose,’ replied the prince, laughing; ‘even yesterday I thought you would not be able to make this dish as well as my cook. Know there is wanting a herb called Sneeze-with-pleasure, which is not even known in this country. Without it this pie is insipid, and your master will never eat it in such perfection as I do.’
At this the duke flew into a rage, and cried with flashing eyes: