sieur Girard,--as I hear a lover
of good diet--ah, he gave me the crab which is soft, the citizen crab.
Monsieur Girard--I bless him. I have seen women, statesmen, kings, but
the crab, ah! the crab 'which is soft.'"

All of them accepted, the _emigres_ gladly, being, alas! none too well
fed.

"And now, adieu. I must go and meditate on my dinner."

The next day at four they met at Marino's, the new restaurant in Front
Street then becoming fashionable.

"I have taken the liberty," said Bingham, "to send half a dozen of
Madeira, 1745, and two decanters of grape juice, what we call the
white. The rest--well, of our best, all of it."

They sat down expectant. "The turkey I have not," said Savarin; "but the
soup--ah, you will see,--soup _a la reine_. Will Citizen Girard
decline?"

The dinner went on with talk and laughter. Savarin talking broken
English, or more volubly French.

"You are to have the crabs which are soft, Monsieur Girard, _en
papillotte_, more becoming crabs than women, and at the close
reed-birds. Had there been these in France, and the crab which is soft,
and the terrapin, there would have been no Revolution. And the
Madeira--perfect, perfect, a revelation. Your health, Mr. Bingham."

Bingham bowed over his glass, and regretted that canvasback ducks and
terrapin were not yet in season. The _emigres_ used well this rare
chance, and with talk of the wine and jest and story (anything but
politics), the dinner went on gaily. Meanwhile Girard, beside De
Courval, spoke of their sad experiences in the fever, and of what was
going on in the murder-scourged West Indian Islands, and of the ruin of
our commerce. Marino in his white cap and long apron stood behind the
host, quietly appreciative of the praise given to his dinner.

Presently Savarin turned to him. "Who," he asked, "dressed this salad.
It is a marvel, and quite new to me."

"I asked Monsieur de Beauvois to do me the honor."

"Indeed! Many thanks, De Beauvois," said the host to a gentleman at the
farther end of the table. "Your salad is past praise. Your health. You
must teach me this dressing."

"A secret," laughed the guest, as he bowed over his glass, "and
valuable."

"That is droll," said De Courval to Bingham.

"No; he comes to my house and to Willing's to dress salad for our
dinners. Ten francs he gets, and lives on it, and saves money."

"Indeed! I am sorry for him," said Rene.

Then Mr. Bingham, being next to Girard, said to him