Everybody bowed. Cachelin continued: “We have no salon. It is rather troublesome, but one gets used to it.”
Lesable replied: “It is charming.”
Then he was relieved of his hat, which he wished to hang up, and he began immediately to draw off his gloves.
They sat down and looked at one another across the table, and no one said anything more until Cachelin asked: “Did the chief remain late tonight? I left very early to help the ladies.”
Lesable replied in a careless tone: “No, we went away together, because we were obliged to discuss the matter of the payment for the canvasses at Brest. It is a very complicated affair, which will give us a great deal of trouble.”
Cachelin believed he ought to bring his sister into the conversation, and turning to her said: “It is M. Lesable who decides all the difficult questions at the office. One might say that he was the deputy chief.”
The old spinster bowed politely, saying: “Oh, I know that Monsieur has great capabilities.”
The maid entered, pushing open the door with her knee, and holding aloft with both hands a great soup tureen. Then the master of the house cried: “Come—dinner! Sit there, M. Lesable, between my sister and my daughter. I hope you are not afraid of the ladies,” and the dinner began.
Lesable made himself agreeable, with a little air of self-sufficiency, almost of condescension, and he glanced now and then at the young girl, astonished at her freshness, at her beautiful, appetising health. Mlle. Charlotte showed her best side, knowing the intentions of her brother, and she took part in the conversation so long as it was confined to commonplace topics. Cachelin was radiant; he talked and joked in a loud voice while he poured out the wine bought an hour previous at the store on the corner: “A glass of this little Burgundy, M. Lesable. I do not say that it is anything remarkable, but it is good; it is from the cellar and it is pure—I can say that much. We get it from some friends down there.”
The young girl said nothing; a little red, a little shy, she was awed by the presence of this man, whose thoughts she suspected.
When the lobster appeared, César declared: “Here comes a personage whose acquaintance I shall be glad to make.”
Lesable, smiling, told a story of a writer who had called the lobster “the cardinal of the seas,” not knowing that before being cooked the animal was a dark greenish black. Cachelin laughed with all his might, repeating: “Ha, ha, ha! that is first rate!” But Mlle. Charlotte, becoming serious, said sharply:
“I do not see anything amusing in that. That gentleman was an improper person. I understand all kinds of pleasantries, but I am opposed to anything which casts ridicule on the clergy in my presence.”
The young man, who wished to please the old maid, profited by this occasion to make a profession of the Catholic faith. He spoke of the bad taste of those who treated great truths with lightness. And in conclusion he said: “For myself I respect and venerate the religion of my fathers; I have been brought up in it, and I will remain in it till my death.”
Cachelin laughed no longer. He rolled little crumbs of bread between his finger and thumb while he murmured: “That’s right, that’s right.” Then he changed the conversation, and, with an impulse natural to those who follow the same routine every day, he said: “Our handsome Maze—must have been furious at not having been promoted?”
Lesable smiled. “Well, why not? To everyone according to his deserts.” And they continued talking about the ministry, which interested everybody, for the two women knew the employees almost as well as Cachelin himself, through hearing them spoken of every day.
Mlle. Charlotte was particularly pleased to hear about Boissel, on account of his romantic spirit, and the adventures he was always telling about, while Cora was secretly interested in the handsome Maze. They had never seen either of the men, however.
Lesable talked about them with a superior air, as a minister might have done in speaking of his staff.
“Maze is not lacking in a certain kind of merit, but when one wishes to accomplish anything it is necessary to work harder than he does. He is fond of society and of pleasure. All that distracts the mind; he will never advance much on this account. He will be an Assistant Secretary, perhaps, thanks to the influence he commands, but nothing more. As for Pitolet, he is a good clerk, I must say. He has a superficial elegance which cannot be gainsaid, but nothing deep. There is a young man whom one could never put at the head of an important bureau, but who can always be utilised by an intelligent chief who would lay out his work for him.”
“And M. Boissel?” asked Mlle. Charlotte.
Lesable shrugged his shoulders: “A poor chap, a poor chap. He can see nothing in its proper proportions, and is continually imagining wonderful stories while half asleep. To us he is of no earthly use.”
Cachelin began to laugh. “But the best of all,” he declared, “is old father Savon.”
Then everybody laughed.
After that they talked of the theatres and the different plays of the year. Lesable judged the dramatic literature of the day with the same authority, concisely classifying the authors, determining the strength and weakness of each, with the assurance of a man who believes himself to be infallible and universal.
They had finished the roast. César now uncovered the pot of foie gras with the most delicate precautions, which made one imagine the contents to be something wonderful. He said: “I do not know if this one will be a success, but generally they are perfect. We get them from a cousin who lives in Strasburg.”
With respectful deliberation each one ate the butcher’s pâté in its little yellow pot.
But disaster came with the ice. It was a sauce, a soup, a clear liquid which floated in the dish.
