f hot oil
in the sardine factories! He saw again in memory the church above the
village, half-way up the cliff, the steeple painted white to show to the
distant boats the passage between the reefs; and he saw, also, in the
short grass of the cemetery nibbled by the sheep, the gravestones on
which this sinister inscription was so often repeated: "_Lost at sea._"
"_Lost at sea._" "_Lost at sea._"

The enormous turbot was of savory and delicate taste, and the shrimp
sauce with which it was served proved that the _chef_ of the comte had
followed a course in cooking at the Cafe Anglais and profited by it.
For our refined civilization reaches even this point. One takes degrees
in culinary science. There are doctors in roasts and bachelors in
sauces. All of the guests eat as if they appreciated, and with delicate
gestures, but without showing special favor for exceptional dishes,
through good form and because they were habituated to exquisite food.

* * * * *

The Dreamer himself had no appetite. He was still in thought with the
Bretons, with the sons of the sea, who had caught, perhaps, this
magnificent turbot. He remembered the day that followed the
tempest--that morning, rainy and gray--when, walking by the heavy,
leaden sea, he had found a body at his feet and recognized it as that of
an old sailor, the father of a family, who had been lost at sea three
days before--mournful jetsam, stranded in the wrack and foam, so
heart-rending to see, with the gray hair of the drowned full of sand and
shells!

A shudder passed over his heart.

[Illustration]

But the lackeys had already removed the plates; every trace of the giant
fish had disappeared, and while they were serving another course, the
diners, elegant triflers, had taken up their chat again. Hunger being
already somewhat appeased, they were more animated, they spoke with more
abandon--light laughs ran round. Oh, charming and gracious company!

* * * * *

Then the Dreamer, the silent guest, was seized with an infinite sadness;
for all the work and distress that were required to create this comfort
and well-being came surging on his imagination.

That these men of the world might wear light dress-coats in
mid-December, that these women might expose their arms and their
shoulders, the temperature of the room was that of a spring morning. And
who furnished the coal? The poor devils of the black country,