Sir Charles timidly, "you know Her
Majesty prefers to drink milk."

"The Queen will drink cider like every one else," replied the chef
curtly.

Sir Charles was charmed with the paved courtyard of the chateau, the
brick and stone facade with its carved escutcheons, the simple
curves of the dining-room panelling, and the picture over the door,
which he attributed, not without reason, to Nattier.

"It's very, very small," murmured M. Lucas pensively. "However, as
it's war-time----"

Then he inquired about the kitchen. It was a vast and well-lighted
place; the red and white tiles on the polished floor shone brightly
in the sunshine; magnificent but useless copper saucepans hung upon
the walls.

In front of the oven a cook in a white cap was at work with a few
assistants. Surprised by the noise, he turned round, and, suddenly
recognizing the man in the blue suit, went as white as his cap, and
dropped the pan he was holding in his hand.

"You?" he exclaimed.

"Yes, my friend," replied the august visitor quite simply. "What a
surprise to find you here! What a pleasure also," he added kindly.
"Ah, now I feel relieved! An alfresco meal, a strange kitchen like
this, made me very anxious, I must confess. But with such a
lieutenant as you, my dear friend, the battle is already half won."

"Yes," he continued, turning towards Aurelle, who was gazing with
emotion upon the encounter and thinking of Napoleon entrusting his
cavalry to Ney on the eve of Waterloo, "it is a curious coincidence
to find Jean Paillard here. At the age of fifteen we made our
_debut_ together under the great Escoffier. When I was appointed
chef to the Ritz, Paillard took charge of the Carlton; when I took
Westminster, he accepted Norfolk."

Having thus unconsciously delivered himself of this romantic
couplet--which goes to prove once again that poetry is the ancient
and natural expression of all true feeling--M. Lucas paused for a
moment, and, lowering his gaze, added in an infinitely expressive
undertone:

"And here I am now with the King. What about you?"

"I?" replied the other with a touch of shame. "It's only two months
since I was released; till then I was in the trenches."

"What!" exclaimed M. Lucas, scandalized. "In the trenches? A chef
like you!"

"Yes," answered Jean Paillard with dignity. "I was cook at G.H.Q."

With a shrug of resignation the two artists deplored the waste of
talent for which armed democracies are responsible;