ndering whether
to regret or rejoice. The peace had been kept marvellously well,
considering the composition of the company. Mrs. Fothergill at times had
made a show of posing as the beneficent patron, and Mrs. Gradinger had
essayed to teach what nobody wanted to learn; but firm and judicious
snubbing had kept these persons in their proper places. Nearly every one
was sorry that the end had come. It had been real repose to Mrs. Wilding
to pass ten days in an atmosphere entirely free from all perfume of the
cathedral close. Lady Considine had been spending freely of late, and
ten days' cessation of tradesmen's calls, and servants on board wages,
had come as a welcome relief. Sir John had gained a respite from the
task he dreaded, the task of going in quest of a successor to Narcisse.
Now as he sat consuming his cigarette in the leisurely fashion so
characteristic of his enjoyment--and those who knew him best were
wont to say that Sir John practiced few arts so studiously as that of
enjoyment--he could not banish the figure of Narcisse from his reverie.
A horrible thought assailed him that this obsession might spring from
the fact that on this very morning Narcisse might have taken his last
brief walk out of the door of La Roquette, and that his disembodied
spirit might be hovering around. Admirable as the cookery of the
Marchesa had been, and fully as he had appreciated it, he felt he would
give a good deal to be assured that on this the last evening of the
New Decameron he might sit down to a dinner prepared by the hand of his
departed chef.

That evening the guests gathered round the table with more empressement
than usual. The Marchesa seemed a little flurried, and Mrs. Sinclair, in
a way, shared her excitement. The menu, for the first time, was written
in French, a fact which did not escape Sir John's eye. He made no remark
as to the soup; it was the best of its kind, and its French name made it
no better than the other triumphs in the same field which the Marchesa
had achieved. But when Sir John tasted the first mouthful of the fish he
paused, and after a reflective and regretful look at his plate, he cast
his eye round the table. All the others, however, were too busily intent
in consuming the Turbot la Vatel to heed his interrogative glance, so he
followed suit, and after he had finished his portion, asked, sotto voce,
for another bit.

In the interval before the service of the next dish Sir John made
several va