the table was
cleared, a request was sent up to the chairman from various parties at
the table, that he would command Henri's attendance, to receive the
testimony of the company respecting the dinner he had sent up, and to
take a glass of wine from them.

Dr Proteau, the chairman, smilingly agreed, saying that such a tribute
was no more than Henri's professional excellence and high reputation
deserved; and Henri was accordingly summoned by a dozen of the grinning
black waiters, who ran over one another in their haste to carry to the
kitchen the message of these, the highest gentry of the land. The
waiters presently poured into the room again, and stood in two rows from
the door, where Henri appeared, not laughing like the rest, but
perfectly grave, as he stood, white apron on, and napkin over his arm,
his stout and tall figure erect, to receive the commands of his masters.

"Was your father a cook or a gourmand, Henri? Or are you all good cooks
at Saint Christophe?" asked a deputy.

"If it is the air of Saint Christophe that makes men such cooks as
Henri, the knights of Saint John of Malta had a goodly gift in it," said
another.

"Can one get such another as you for money, Henri?" asked a third.

"How many boys has your wife brought you, Henri? We shall bid high for
them, and make your master's fortune, if he trains them all to your
profession," said a fourth.

"Tell your master he had better not part with you for any sum, Henri.
We will make it worth his while to refuse more for you than was ever
offered yet."

"Your health, Henri! May you live out all the turtle now in Saint
Domingo, and the next generation after them."

Amidst all these questions and remarks, Henri escaped answering any. He
stood looking on the ground, till a glass of champagne was brought to
him, bowed to the company, drank it off, and was gone.

"How demure the fellow looks!" said Monsieur Papalier, a planter, to
Bayou, his neighbour in the plain, who now sat opposite to him; "what an
air of infinite modesty he put on! At this moment, I daresay he is
snapping his fingers, and telling the women that all the money in Saint
Domingo won't buy him."

"You are mistaken there," said Bayou. "He is a singular fellow, is
Henri, in more ways than his cookery. I believe he never snapped his
fingers in his life, nor told anybody what his master gave for him. I
happen to know Henri very well, from his being an acquaintance of my
overseer, w