French cooking is the best in
the world. It is a glory that will transcend all others when humanity
has grown wise enough to put the spit above the sword. Clodomir served
the angels, and the mortal who was with them, with a soup made of
cabbages and bacon, a loin of pork and kidneys cooked in wine, thereby
proving himself a real Montmartre cook, and showing that he had not been
spoilt by the Americans, who corrupt the most excellent _chefs_ of the
City of Restaurants.

Clodomir brought forth some Bordeaux, which, though unrecorded among the
renowned vintages of Medoc, gave evidence by its choice and delicate
aroma of the high nobility of its origin. We must not omit to chronicle
that, after this wine and many others had been drunk, the cellarman, in
solemn state, produced a Burgundy choice and rare, full-bodied yet not
heavy, generous yet delicate, rich with the true Burgundian mellowness,
a noble and, withal, a somewhat heady wine, that brought delight alike
to mind and sense.

"Hail to thee, Dionysus, greatest of the Gods!" cried old Nectaire,
raising his glass on high. "I drink to thee who wilt restore the Golden
Age, and give again to mortal men, who will become heroes as of old, the
grapes which the Lesbians used to cull, long since, from the vines of
Methymna; who wilt restore the vineyards of Thasus, the white clusters
of Lake Mareotis, the storehouses of Falernus, the vines of the Tmolus,
and the wine of Phanae, of all wines the king. And the juice thereof
shall be divine, and, as in old Silenus' day, men shall grow drunk with
Wisdom and with Love."

When the coffee was served, Prince Istar, Zita, Arcade, and the Japanese
angel took it in turns to give an account of the forces assembled
against Ialdabaoth. Angels, in exchanging eternal bliss for the
sufferings of an earthly life, grow in intelligence, acquire the means
of going astray and the faculty of self-contradiction. Consequently
their meetings, like those of men, are tumultuous and confused. Did one
of them deal in figures, the others immediately called them in question.
They could not add one number to another without quarrelling, and
arithmetic itself, subjected to passion, lost its certitude. The Kerub,
who had brought with him the pious Theophile, waxed indignant when he
heard the musician praising the Lord, and rained down such blows on his
head as would have felled an ox. But the head of a musician is harder
than a bucranium, and the blows which