“What, monsieur, do you make soufflés at the Epée Couronnée?” “Yes, monsieur, and a good sort too, I flatter myself.” “Then you are an expert?” “Why, monsieur, when one has learned the profession at Paris, at the Boisseau Fleuri, one is equal to anything.” “Oho! that makes a difference! If you are a graduate of the Boisseau Fleuri, we are surprised at nothing, and we await your soufflés with confidence.” Bonneau retired, all puffed up with the compliments they had paid him. The ladies tried to crumble their bread into their eggs, but it was impossible; they were cooked so hard that they had to make up their minds to remove the shells and eat them from their hands. Adeline shouted with laughter, Madame Germeuil shook her head, and Edouard announced that to cap the climax the eggs smelled of straw. “This does not give me a very pleasant anticipation of the soufflés,” said the mother, placing her egg on the table. “Well, madame, let us still hope! Great men, you know, pay no heed to small matters, and the pupil of the Boisseau Fleuri may well not know how to cook eggs.” Bonneau entered the room, carrying in his two hands an enormous dish of rabbit stew, which he placed in front of Edouard. “Monsieur le traiteur, for a man equal to anything, you made rather a failure of our eggs; they are boiled hard and smell of straw.” “As for the straw, monsieur, you must know that I don’t make the eggs myself, that depends entirely on the hens; as for the way they were cooked, that is entirely the fault of the water; I leave the eggs in the water five minutes; if the watch loses time while the eggs are in the water, the best cook might be deceived.” “True, you are right; luckily there are no eggs in a rabbit stew, and it isn’t cooked by the minute.” “So you must tell me what you think of it; I will go now and make sure that your fowl is cooked to a turn.” Bonneau left the room, carrying his hard boiled eggs, which no one had touched, and which he proceeded to cut up and place on the salad, so that they would be paid for twice over; that was a clear gain; and in order that there might not be any further complaint of their smelling of the straw, the host took from his sideboard a certain oil, the taste of which was bound to predominate. “Well,” said Edouard, as he prepared to serve the ladies, “as we absolutely must eat rabbit stew, let us see if this one does our host credit. But what the deuce is there in it? It is a string. Can it be that the pupil of the Boisseau Fleuri puts whole rabbits into his stew? This is attached to something, and I don’t see the end of it. Parbleu! we shall get the pieces that are tied, later. But what is this I see? Look, mesdames--is it a thigh, or a head? These rabbits are most peculiarly constructed.” “Oh! bless my soul!” said Adeline, examining what Edouard had on his fork, “it’s a cup-and-ball!”