"It's a little sour," said Menard, making a wry face.

"We have some white that's sweeter," said Goton.

"Go and get us some of the white, my dear; don't spare anything; you don't have people like us to supper every day."

"No, indeed," said Menard; "and we will hope that the rabbit stew is made with that understanding."

Dubourg served the stew; but the innkeeper, disturbed by his wife's adventure in the corridor, had allowed it to burn, and Goton, being constantly beset by the four peddlers, had put the onions in too late and had not grated the bacon. Dubourg vainly insisted on declaring that it had a delicious odor; Menard said nothing, because he dared not contradict monsieur le baron; but his face grew darker with every mouthful.

"What infernal kind of a stew is this?" said Frederic, pushing away the plate that Dubourg persisted in offering him. "A rabbit that has had nothing to eat but cabbage, raw onions, and rancid lard; and a detestable burned taste, in addition."

"It can't be denied," said Menard, "that it doesn't come up to what monsieur le baron told us."

"What do you expect, messieurs?" said Dubourg; "a cook must make mistakes sometimes. _Errare humanum est_; isn't that so, Monsieur Menard?"

"A cook ought never _errare_, monsieur le baron."

"It's partly your fault, too. You disturbed his mind; why in the devil did you go prowling about under his wife's skirts?"

"I only wanted to get by, monsieur le baron."

"Only a husband should take that road, Monsieur Menard."

"My intentions were pure, monsieur le baron."

"I never doubted it; but your position was shockingly equivocal."

"Monsieur le baron, in the temple of Apollo, the pythonesses, seated on the sacred tripod, received the prophetic exhalations under their robes."

"If my wife had seated herself on that tripod, Monsieur Menard, I should have asked for a separation."

Goton put an end to this conversation by bringing an omelet and white wine.

"Were the gentlemen satisfied with the stew?" she asked.

"It was worse than the devil!" replied Frederic.

"It was a total failure," said Menard.

"My dear child," added Dubourg, "the rabbits in Bretagne don't smell so strong of cabbage. They have fine rabbits there; but here you have a very bad way of bringing them up."

"It would seem that monsieur le baron has pa.s.sed a good deal of time in Bretagne?" said Menard, respectfully putting out his hand to take a pinch of snuff from the King of Prussia's snuff-box, which Dubourg offered him.

"Yes, Monsieur Menard; and I admit that I still have a weakness for that province. I have such delightful recollections of it! Ah! how lovely the sky is in Bretagne! And the fields--how pretty they are! What rich pastures, what enchanting groves! You can walk leagues and leagues without once leaving the leafy thickets and flower-grown paths which make the fields of Bretagne one endless garden."

"But Poland, monsieur le baron?"

"Oh! Poland has its good points, of course. Have you ever been there, Monsieur Menard?"

"I have not had that honor, monsieur le baron."

"As you are not familiar with the country, I will talk with you often about it."

"It must be a very interesting country."

"Extremely interesting, and extremely picturesque; first of all, we have the Krapach Mountains, beside which Mont Cenis is no more than a little hillock."

"Oh, indeed! they are covered with snow, of course?"

"Almost all the year. I have a chateau on the summit of one of those mountains, where only chamois can keep their footing."

"But how do you reach your chateau, monsieur le baron?"

"I have had a winding staircase constructed inside the mountain; it cost me a hundred thousand francs, but it's a wonderful piece of work, and people come hundreds of miles to see it. I trust, Monsieur Menard, that I shall have the pleasure of showing it to you, and of entertaining you for some time at my castle of Krapach. I will give you a gla.s.s of a certain tokay which came to me from Tekely's cellar; and you will tell me what you think of it."

"Ah! monsieur le baron, you overpower me. But it must be very cold at your chateau, is it not?"

"It used to be very cold, in truth, in the days of my ancestors; but, thanks to recent scientific discoveries, I have found a way of modifying the temperature--a very simple method, which answers my purposes perfectly."

"What is it, pray, monsieur le baron?"

"I have built a gasometer under the chateau; gas, as you know, makes the earth very warm; indeed, in some places directly over the pipes, I raise green peas in January.--What is it, my dear count? drink, drink, or you will choke!"

Frederic had, in fact, much difficulty in listening to this discourse, which Dubourg delivered with imperturbable gravity, while Menard listened with childlike confidence to every word uttered by the baron.

At that moment, the conversation was interrupted by a violent shock, followed by an ominous cracking.

"Mon Dieu!" exclaimed Menard; "what can that be? This house doesn't seem to be very solidly built."

"Can it be that they are firing cannon to celebrate our arrival in the village?" Dubourg asked Goton, who replied, with a laugh:

"Oh! no, monsieur; it ain't anything; it's only madame going to bed, that's all."

This explanation made the young men laugh; but Menard was not satisfied until he was a.s.sured that the hostess slept on the same floor; he would not have consented to pa.s.s the night on the floor below a woman who shook the house whenever she moved; it was quite enough to remain under the same roof with her.

The white wine, being a little more palatable than the red, enabled them to eat an omelet with parsley, which Dubourg tried in vain to make them think was tarragon. For dessert there was nothing to offer the travellers except some Gerome cheese, which could have walked to the table una.s.sisted at need, and the odor of which drove Frederic from his seat. He went to bed in the other room, bidding the servant wake him early in the morning, as he had no desire to prolong his stay at the inn. Monsieur Menard deemed it his duty to remain with the baron, who plied him with b.u.mper after b.u.mper and went into raptures over the taste of the cheese, which, he said, reminded him of what he had eaten in Switzerland, thereby putting an end to the ex-tutor's desire to lunch or sup in a chalet.

"Yes, Monsieur Menard," said Dubourg; "if you should go to Gruyere, a small Swiss village noted for its cheeses, which are its only source of wealth, you would smell a league away the chalets in which they are made. When you have pa.s.sed a night in one of them, you smell the cheese for a week, an excellent thing for the lungs. But you must feel the need of rest, Monsieur Menard; pray go to bed. I propose to pa.s.s the night writing."

"Monsieur le baron, I shall never dare to take the liberty--before you----"

"Why not, pray? Diogenes went to bed in his tub, before Alexander; and Crates did not hesitate to show his rump to his fellow citizens."

"It is you who order me to do it, monsieur le baron."

"I don't order you to show me your rump, Monsieur Menard; but I urge you to go to bed as if I weren't here."

Fatigue and the white wine combined to make sleep essential to Menard, so he did not wait to be urged again; he went behind the flowered curtains, and prepared to retire. Meanwhile, Dubourg, seated at a table in a corner of the room, pretended to look over papers and take notes, but he was really waiting impatiently for the tutor to fall asleep, in order to give the postilion of the berlin the signal to go; for he was afraid that Menard would wake early, and it would be very embarra.s.sing if the carriage were not then at a safe distance from the village. For this reason, he was anxious to hasten the postilion's departure.