"At Saverne."
"And you have sent to seek this bottle for me!" cried the old marshal.
"For you, your grace," replied the maître-d'hôtel, in a tone which plainly said, "ungrateful as you are."
The Duke de Richelieu seized the hand of the old servant and cried, "I beg pardon; you are the king of maîtres d'hôtel."
"And you would have dismissed me," he replied, with an indescribable shrug of his shoulders.
"Oh, I will pay you one hundred pistoles for this bottle of wine."
"And the expenses of its coming here will be another hundred; but you will grant that it is worth it."
"I will grant anything you please, and, to begin, from to-day I double your salary."
"I seek no reward, your grace; I have but done my duty."
"And when will your courier arrive?"
"Your grace may judge if I have lost time: on what day did I have my orders for the dinner?"
"Why, three days ago, I believe."
"It takes a courier, at his utmost speed, twenty-four hours to go, and the same to return."
"There still remain twenty-four hours," said the marshal; "how have they been employed?"
"Alas, your grace, they were lost. The idea only came to me the day after I received the list of your guests. Now calculate the time necessary for the negotiation, and you will perceive that in asking you to wait till five I am only doing what I am absolutely obliged to do."
"The bottle is not yet arrived, then?"
"No, your grace."
"Ah, sir, if your colleague at Saverne be as devoted to the Prince de Rohan as you are to me, and should refuse the bottle, as you would do in his place – "
"I? your grace – "
"Yes; you would not, I suppose, have given away such a bottle, had it belonged to me?"
"I beg your pardon, humbly, your grace; but had a friend, having a king to provide for, asked me for your best bottle of wine, he should have had it immediately."
"Oh!" said the marshal, with a grimace.
"It is only by helping others that we can expect help in our own need, your grace."
"Well, then, I suppose we may calculate that it will be given, but there is still another risk – if the bottle should be broken?"
"Oh! your grace, who would break a bottle of wine of that value?"
"Well, I trust not; what time, then, do you expect your courier?"
"At four o'clock precisely."
"Then why not dine at four?" replied the marshal.
"Your grace, the wine must rest for an hour; and had it not been for an invention of my own, it would have required three days to recover itself."
Beaten at all points, the marshal gave way.
"Besides," continued the old servant, "be sure, your grace, that your guests will not arrive before half-past four."
"And why not?"
"Consider, your grace: to begin with M. de Launay; he comes from the Bastile, and with the ice at present covering the streets of Paris – "
"No; but he will leave after the prisoners' dinner, at twelve o'clock."
"Pardon me, your grace, but the dinner hour at the Bastile has been changed since your grace was there; it is now one."
"Sir, you are learned on all points; pray go on."
"Madame Dubarry comes from the Luciennes, one continued descent, and in this frost."
"That would not prevent her being punctual, since she is no longer a duke's favorite; she plays the queen only among barons; but let me tell you, sir, that I desire to have dinner early on account of M. de la Pérouse, who sets off to-night, and would not wish to be late."
"But, your grace, M. de la Pérouse is with the king, discussing geography and cosmography; he will not get away too early."
"It is possible."
"It is certain, your grace, and it will be the same with M. de Favras, who is with the Count de Provence, talking, no doubt, of the new play by the Canon de Beaumarchais."
"You mean the 'Marriage of Figaro'?"
"Yes, your grace."
"Why, you are quite literary also, it seems."
"In my leisure moments I read, your grace."
"We have, however, M. de Condorcet, who, being a geometrician, should at least be punctual."
"Yes; but he will be deep in some calculation, from which, when he rouses himself, it will probably be at least half an hour too late. As for the Count Cagliostro, as he is a stranger, and not well acquainted with the customs of Versailles, he will, in all probability, make us wait for him."
"Well," said the marshal, "you have disposed of all my guests, except M. de Taverney, in a manner worthy of Homer, or of my poor Raffè."
The maître-d'hôtel bowed. "I have not," said he, "named M. de Taverney, because, being an old friend, he will probably be punctual."
"Good; and where do we dine?"
"In the great dining-room, your grace."
"But we shall freeze there."
"It has been warmed for three days, your grace; and I believe you will find it perfectly comfortable."
"Very well; but there is a clock striking! Why, it is half-past four!" cried the marshal.
"Yes, your grace; and there is the courier entering the courtyard with my bottle of tokay."
"May I continue for another twenty years to be served in this manner!" said the marshal, turning again to his looking-glass, while the maître-d'hôtel ran down-stairs.
"Twenty years!" said a laughing voice, interrupting the marshal in his survey of himself; "twenty years, my dear duke! I wish them you; but then I shall be sixty – I shall be very old."
"You, countess!" cried the marshal, "you are my first arrival, and, mon Dieu! you look as young and charming as ever."
"Duke, I am frozen."
"Come into the boudoir, then."
"Oh! tête-à-tête, marshal?"
"Not so," replied a somewhat broken voice.
"Ah! Taverney!" said the marshal; and then whispering to the countess, "Plague take him for disturbing us!"
Madame Dubarry laughed, and they all entered the adjoining room.
II. – M. DE LA PEROUSE
At the same moment, the noise of carriages in the street warned the marshal that his guests were arriving; and soon after, thanks to the punctuality of his maître-d'hôtel, nine persons were seated round the oval table in the dining-room. Nine lackeys, silent as shadows, quick without bustle, and attentive without importunity, glided over the carpet, and passed among the guests, without ever touching their chairs, which were surrounded with furs, which were wrapped round the legs of the sitters. These furs, with the heat from the stoves, and the odors from the wine and the dinner, diffused a degree of comfort, which manifested itself in the gaiety of the guests, who had just finished their soup.
No sound was heard from without, and none within, save that made by the guests themselves; for the plates were changed, and the dishes moved round, with the most perfect quiet. Nor from the maître d'hôtel could a whisper be heard; he seemed to give his orders with his eyes.
The guests, therefore, began to feel as though they were alone. It seemed to them that servants so silent must also be deaf.
M. de Richelieu was the first who broke the silence, by saying to the guest on his right hand, "But, count, you drink nothing."
This