The praises bestowed On Frank, by a man who was as habitually cold and reserved as Lord Falmouth, caused me intense suffering, because they confirmed in an unmistakable way all the good qualities I had, in spite of my malevolence, discovered in Hélène's husband. I thanked Lord Falmouth for his kindness, but he appeared to perceive my unkind thoughts, and said: "You seem to be worried." "I really am; and as you are one of the few men to whom one may tell the truth, I am willing to admit it," said I. "To tell you the truth, I like you better so disposed than if you were very gay," he replied. "I don't know why, but I am bored more than usual these last few days." Then after a long pause: "Does the life you are leading here amuse you enormously?" said he. "Great God, no!" I exclaimed. "Speaking seriously?" "Oh, very seriously." At this moment supper was announced. "Be so good as to have all we will be likely to need placed on the side-tables, and send away your servants; we will talk more freely," said Lord Falmouth, in English, as we were going into the dining-room. "Thanks to God," said he, "I never have such a good appetite as when I am bored to death. It seems as though I had at such times to nourish the beast that is within me." "I am also very gourmand, but in fits and starts," I replied, "and then I go to impossible lengths, and when I would like to find an inventive and creative genius I only stumble on a cook. And you may laugh if you please; but I need to have an excuse to really dine conscientiously, if you will allow me to say so; for example, after a long hunt, when I can stretch out in a great armchair. I then feel a real sensual enjoyment; but to make a study of my dinner, to seriously reflect on what I am going to eat, that is too limited a pleasure; for one soon falls into repetition and then comes satiety." "Well," said Lord Falmouth, "I had once a veritable Christopher Columbus, in his way, who discovered for me unknown worlds, but unfortunately he is dead, poor fellow! Not a suicide like your Vatel, but in a real duel with the head butler of M. de Nesselrode; for my poor Hubert deeply despised all that concerned the pantry; he would sometimes busy himself there by way of pastime, for amusement, he would say. He pretended that the _pudding glacé à la Nesselrode_ was the result of one of these leisure hours, and that his rival was simply a plagiarist. But alas! how sad is our fate here below! My poor Hubert was doubly the victim, for the name of the great diplomat who christened the pudding is the only name that it bears in the legend of good livers." "What a singular thing it is," said I to Lord Falmouth, "that duelling and suicide should descend so low, and how truly it is said that the passions only change their names!"