el
laughed like an absent man, and amused himself like a child. At
the sound of his master's voice he turned round, exclaiming: "Oh!
monseigneur!"

"Yes, it is I. What the devil are you doing here, Vatel? Wine! You are
buying wine at a _cabaret_ in the Place de Greve!"

"But, monseigneur," said Vatel, quietly after having darted a hostile
glance at Gourville, "why am I interfered with here? Is my cellar kept
in bad order?"

"No, certes, Vatel, no; but--"

"But what?" replied Vatel. Gourville touched Fouquet's elbow.

"Don't be angry, Vatel; I thought my cellar--your cellar--sufficiently
well stocked for us to be able to dispense with recourse to the cellar
of L'Image-de-Notre-Dame."

"Eh, monsieur," said Vatel, shrinking from monseigneur to monsieur with
a degree of disdain: "your cellar is so well stocked that when certain
of your guests dine with you they have nothing to drink."

Fouquet, in great surprise, looked at Gourville. "What do you mean by
that?"

"I mean that your butler had not wine for all tastes, monsieur; and that
M. de la Fontaine, M. Pelisson, and M. Conrart, do not drink when they
come to the house--these gentlemen do not like strong wine. What is to
be done, then?"

"Well, and therefore?"

"Well, then, I have found here a _vin de Joigny_, which they like. I
know they come here once a week to drink at the Image-de-Notre-Dame.
That is the reason I am making this provision."

Fouquet had no more to say; he was convinced. Vatel, on his part, had
much more to say, without doubt, and it was plain he was getting warm.
"It is just as if you would reproach me, monseigneur, for going to the
Rue Planche Milbray, to fetch, myself, the cider M. Loret drinks when he
comes to dine at your house."

"Loret drinks cider at my house!" cried Fouquet, laughing.

"Certainly he does, monsieur, and that is the reason why he dines there
with pleasure."

"Vatel," cried Fouquet, pressing the hand of his _maitre d'hotel_, "you
are a man! I thank you, Vatel, for having understood that at my house
M. de la Fontaine, M. Conrart, and M. Loret are as great as dukes and
peers, as great as princes, greater than myself. Vatel, you are a good
servant, and I double your salary."

Vatel did not even thank his master, he merely shrugged his shoulders a
little, murmuring this superb sentiment: "To be thanked for having done
one's duty is humiliating."

"He is right," said Gourville, as he drew Fouquet's attention, by a