e scent of something cooking
which was not unwelcome to him, hungry as he was; it was that mixture
of fat and garlic peculiar to provincial kitchens of an inferior order,
added to that of dried fish, and above all, the pungent smell of musk
and cloves. These odors escaped from two deep dishes which were covered
and placed on a stove, and from a copper pan placed in an old iron pot.
In an adjoining room Andrea saw also a tolerably clean table prepared
for two, two bottles of wine sealed, the one with green, the other with
yellow, a supply of brandy in a decanter, and a measure of fruit in a
cabbage-leaf, cleverly arranged on an earthenware plate.

"What do you think of it, my little fellow?" said Caderousse. "Ay, that
smells good! You know I used to be a famous cook; do you recollect how
you used to lick your fingers? You were among the first who tasted any
of my dishes, and I think you relished them tolerably." While speaking,
Caderousse went on peeling a fresh supply of onions.

"But," said Andrea, ill-temperedly, "by my faith, if it was only to
breakfast with you, that you disturbed me, I wish the devil had taken
you!"

"My boy," said Caderousse sententiously, "one can talk while eating. And
then, you ungrateful being, you are not pleased to see an old friend?
I am weeping with joy." He was truly crying, but it would have been
difficult to say whether joy or the onions produced the greatest effect
on the lachrymal glands of the old inn-keeper of the Pont-du-Gard. "Hold
your tongue, hypocrite," said Andrea; "you love me!"

"Yes, I do, or may the devil take me. I know it is a weakness," said
Caderousse, "but it overpowers me."

"And yet it has not prevented your sending for me to play me some
trick."

"Come," said Caderousse, wiping his large knife on his apron, "if I did
not like you, do you think I should endure the wretched life you
lead me? Think for a moment. You have your servant's clothes on--you
therefore keep a servant; I have none, and am obliged to prepare my own
meals. You abuse my cookery because you dine at the table d'hote of
the Hotel des Princes, or the Cafe de Paris. Well, I too could keep a
servant; I too could have a tilbury; I too could dine where I like; but
why do I not? Because I would not annoy my little Benedetto. Come, just
acknowledge that I could, eh?" This address was accompanied by a look
which was by no means difficult to understand. "Well," said Andrea,
"admitting your love, why d