served
to privileged guests. To him came M. Sapin, the great artist responsible
for the menus of a certain peer far-famed as the foremost living
disciple of Lucullus. A banquet extraordinary was shortly to take place,
and M. Sapin, the mastermind, came to beg of Regali the recipe for his
ragout. Wrapped in a fur-lined coat, the immortal Sapin descended from
his car (for his salary was that of a Cabinet Minister). Hollow-cheeked,
sallow, and having death in his eyes, he begged this favour of his
modest rival.

"It shall never be prepared by my hand again, Regali," he said. "My
physician gives me but one month of life."

"What!" cried Regali. "It is then a dying request?"

"It is indeed," was the mournful reply. "For this great affair I have
sought inspiration from all the classic authorities. I have considered
the dormice served with honey and poppy-seed and the grape-fed beccafico
dressed with _garum piperatum_, which, according to Petronius, were
served at Trimalchio's banquet. But neither of these rare dishes can
compare with Ragout Regali." Regali bowed. "Therefore, I beg of you,
grant me permission to prepare that supreme triumph of our beautiful
art, and in honour of the guest of the evening, to present it for the
first and, alas! the last time as 'Ragout Prince Leopold!'"

Regali consented, and that night after closing-time a strange scene was
enacted. Outside the restaurant stood the luxurious car of M. Sapin,
and downstairs in the kitchen, behind double-locked doors, the two chefs
made Ragout Regali, M. Sapin noting the method of preparation with those
pathetic dying eyes. But at the great banquet following the appearance
of "Ragout Prince Leopold," M. Sapin was summoned to the dining-room and
toasted by the epicures there gathered. This was his final triumph. He
died a few weeks later. But of such dream stuff was the wonder-dish to
whose mystery Regali had admitted Flamby with the words "Ragout Regali
is on to-day."

Another morning they went to Guilder's, the art school of which Don had
said, "They teach you everything except how to sell your pictures," and
Flamby made the acquaintance of Hammett, famous as a painter of dogs,
velvet and lace, under whom she was to work. The school surprised her.
It was so extremely untidy, and the big windows were so very dirty.
Busts and plaster casts, canvas-stretchers, easels, stools and stacks of
sketches littered the first, or "antique" room, and they were all
mantl