he Pastissier
was 10,000 francs. But that was for a quite exceptional copy. From 4,500
francs to 5,500 francs seems to have been the average value of the book
in Willems' time, and, enthusiast as he is, he hesitates not to describe
it as a 'bouquin insignifiant et mediocrement imprime.'

Its scarcity at the present day is, perhaps, not surprising; for, from
the very nature of its contents, its habitat must always have been the
kitchen rather than the library. How long would such a tiny volume, with
its 130 thin paper leaves, bear the rough and greasy handling of chefs
and 'pastissiers'? Book-shelves are rare in kitchens, and the little book
must have been continually moved from pillar to post. Besides, it is
unlikely that copies for kitchen use would be strongly bound in morocco.
The very printing and paper of the book sufficiently indicate the use to
which its producers at least expected it to be put. So the little 'French
pastrycook' gradually disappeared. Those for whose benefit it had been
written would soon learn its secrets by heart and confide them verbally
to their apprentices; and it would not be long ere the tattered and
greasy booklet found its way into the dustbin.

Of all the _rarae aves_ sought by book-collectors this little volume is
perhaps the most widely known. That copies may still exist in this
country is shown to be possible by the fact (recorded by Willems) that
one was sold at an auction in Belfast. Another was found at Brighton, and
occasionally one appears in the London salerooms, as we have shown. It
requires little imagination to picture merchants and travellers, whose
paths led through the Low Countries at that time, slipping copies into
their pockets or holsters for use in the household across the water. Many
a courtly exile during the Protectorate, glancing through the bookshops
of Amsterdam, must have chanced upon the little volume as a gift for wife
or daughter.

Numbers, also, must have found their way to France. Some years ago our
book-hunter happened to stay at an ancient hostel in Rouen. From the
outside the building was everything that could possibly be desired by
bibliophile or antiquary. It was situated in one of those quaint narrow
back streets that lead towards the Place Henri Quatre; and the courtyard
was so small as scarcely to allow a baker's cart to turn round in it.
Like many of the houses in this ancient town, its crookedness was such
that it seemed impossible for it to r