lved never again to disobey
these injunctions.

Meantime he uncorked the bottles and went to smell if the pie was good.

At half-past six the duke arose and said very gravely:

"Certainly, Caesar was the greatest man of ancient times."

"You think so, my lord?" answered La Ramee.

"Yes."

"Well, as for me, I prefer Hannibal."

"And why, pray, Master La Ramee?" asked the duke.

"Because he left no Commentaries," replied La Ramee, with his coarse
laugh.

The duke vouchsafed no reply, but sitting down at the table made a
sign that La Ramee should seat himself opposite. There is nothing so
expressive as the face of an epicure who finds himself before a well
spread table, so La Ramee, when receiving his plate of soup from
Grimaud, presented a type of perfect bliss.

The duke smiled.

"Zounds!" he said; "I don't suppose there is a more contented man at
this moment in all the kingdom than yourself!"

"You are right, my lord duke," answered the officer; "I don't know any
pleasanter sight on earth than a well covered table; and when, added to
that, he who does the honors is the grandson of Henry IV., you will, my
lord duke, easily comprehend that the honor fairly doubles the pleasure
one enjoys."

The duke, in his turn, bowed, and an imperceptible smile appeared on the
face of Grimaud, who kept behind La Ramee.

"My dear La Ramee," said the duke, "you are the only man to turn such
faultless compliments."

"No, my lord duke," replied La Ramee, in the fullness of his heart; "I
say what I think; there is no compliment in what I say to you----"

"Then you are attached to me?" asked the duke.

"To own the truth, I should be inconsolable if you were to leave
Vincennes."

"A droll way of showing your affliction." The duke meant to say
"affection."

"But, my lord," returned La Ramee, "what would you do if you got out?
Every folly you committed would embroil you with the court and they
would put you into the Bastile, instead of Vincennes. Now, Monsieur
de Chavigny is not amiable, I allow, but Monsieur du Tremblay is
considerably worse."

"Indeed!" exclaimed the duke, who from time to time looked at the clock,
the fingers of which seemed to move with sickening slowness.

"But what can you expect from the brother of a capuchin monk, brought
up in the school of Cardinal Richelieu? Ah, my lord, it is a great
happiness that the queen, who always wished you well, had a fancy to
send you here, where there's a promen