The lunch continued merrily. Altenheim had recovered his good humor and the two men vied with each other in wit and politeness. Sernine told anecdotes which the baron capped with others; and it was a succession of stories of hunting, sport and travel, in which the oldest names in Europe were constantly cropping up: Spanish grandees, English lords, Hungarian magyars, Austrian archdukes. "Ah," said Sernine, "what a fine profession is ours! It brings us into touch with all the best people. Here, Sirius, a bit of this truffled chicken!" The dog did not take his eyes off him, and snapped at everything that Sernine gave it. "A glass of Chambertin, prince?" "With pleasure, baron." "I can recommend it. It comes from King Leopold's cellar." "A present?" "Yes, a present I made myself." "It's delicious. . . . What a bouquet! . . . With this _pâté de foie gras_, it's simply wonderful! . . . I must congratulate you, baron; you have a first-rate chef." "My chef is a woman-cook, prince. I bribed her with untold gold to leave Levraud, the socialist deputy. I say, try this hot chocolate-ice; and let me call your special attention to the little dry cakes that go with it. They're an invention of genius, those cakes." "The shape is charming, in any case," said Sernine, helping himself. "If they taste as good as they look. . . . Here, Sirius, you're sure to like this. Locusta herself could not have done better." He took one of the cakes and gave it to the dog. Sirius swallowed it at a gulp, stood motionless for two or three seconds, as though dazed, then turned in a circle and fell to the floor dead. Sernine started back from his chair, lest one of the footmen should fall upon him unawares. Then he burst out laughing: "Look here, baron, next time you want to poison one of your friends, try to steady your voice and to keep your hands from shaking. . . . Otherwise, people suspect you. . . . But I thought you disliked murder?" "With the knife, yes," said Altenheim, quite unperturbed. "But I have always had a wish to poison some one. I wanted to see what it was like." "By Jove, old chap, you choose your subjects well! A Russian prince!" He walked up to Altenheim and, in a confidential tone, said: "Do you know what would have happened if you had succeeded, that is to say, if my friends had not seen me return at three o'clock at the latest? Well, at half-past three the prefect of police would have known exactly all that there was to know about the so-called Baron Altenheim; and the said baron would have been copped before the day was out and clapped into jail." "Pooh!" said Altenheim. "Prison one escapes from . . . whereas one does not come back from the kingdom where I was sending you." "True, but you would have to send me there first; and that's not so easy." "I only wanted a mouthful of one of those cakes." "Are you quite sure?" "Try."