not used
to it like you and I."

Pierre put in his pocket some of the money his master had sent him from
Paris--which he had never touched before--mounted the pony, and galloped
off to the nearest village in search of provisions. He found several
fowls--such as they were--a splendid Bayonne ham, a few bottles of fine
old wine, and by great good luck, discovered, at the priest's house, a
grand big pate of ducks' livers--a delicacy worthy of a bishop's or
a prince's table--and which he had much difficulty to obtain from his
reverence, who was a bit of a gourmand, at an almost fabulous price. But
this was evidently a great occasion, and the faithful old servant would
spare no pains to do it honour. In less than an hour he was at home
again, and leaving the charge of the cooking to a capable woman he had
found and sent out to the chateau, he immediately proceeded to set the
table, in the ancient banqueting hall--gathering together all the fine
porcelain and dainty glass that yet remained intact in the two tall
buffets--evidences of former splendour. But the profusion of gold and
silver plate that used to adorn the festive board of the de Sigognacs
had all been converted into coin of the realm long ago.

When at last the old servant announced that dinner was ready, the
two young men took their places opposite to each other at table, and
Vallombreuse, who was in the gayest, most jovial mood, attacked the
viands with an eagerness and ferocity immensely diverting to his host.
After devouring almost the whole of a chicken, which, it is true, seemed
to have died of a consumption, there was so little flesh on its bones,
he fell back upon the tempting, rosy slices of the delicate Bayonne ham,
and then passed to the pate of ducks' livers, which he declared to be
supremely delicious, exquisite, ambrosial--food fit for the gods; and
he found the sharp cheese, made of goat's milk, which followed, an
excellent relish. He praised the wine, too--which was really very old
and fine and drank it with great gusto, out of his delicate Venetian
wine-glass. Once, when he caught sight of Pierre's bewildered, terrified
look, as he heard his master address his merry guest as the Duke of
Vallombreuse--who ought to be dead, if he was not--he fairly roared with
laughter, and was as full of fun and frolic as a school-boy out for
a holiday; Meantime de Sigognac, whilst he endeavoured to play the
attentive host, and to respond as well as he could to the