From edible songsters he progressed to the cooking of these, and thence to speech on the art of cooking at large. There were pessimists, it seemed, to bemoan the day when a _maitre d'hotel_ would die rather than outlive the dishonor of his master's table, as when Vatel stabbed himself because the fish for one of Conde's dinners failed to arrive on time--proving, as Savarin observed, that the fanaticism of honor could exist in the kitchen as well as in the camp. But in the opinion of the speaker these were pinchbeck heroics. Vatel would have been the truer Frenchman, certainly the better _chef_, if, instead of wreaking a messy violence on himself in his master's kitchen, he had contrived an _entree_ to replace the missing fish. And we should remember, too, that the French, good cooks as they are, have but elaborated an art for the germinal principals of which they are indebted to Italian genius. Italy first saw the revival of cookery as she first saw the revival of learning. The land of Savarin lay in darkness until light was brought by those incomparable artists in the train of Catharine de Medicis. One might recall how Montaigne was captivated in the land of Horace by the weighty manner of the _chef_ of Cardinal Caraffa in discoursing upon the occultisms of his art. The Italians even then held the thing hardly second to theology. The little man here permitted a pause in which he discarded his cigarette and readjusted the carnation in his lapel, with a sniff at its spiciness. Then he turned graciously to Ewing. "But I must be off--time races so in this little nook! If you're stepping on, Mr.--Ah, yes--Ewing, to be sure--if you're leaving, I shall be glad to join you as far as the avenue. My dutiful love, lady, and to you, doctor, that virtue which superstition ascribes to your pellets. The word 'health' could never have been coined by the healthy, could it? I dislike to use the word baldly." Ewing rose, glad of the exit thus provided. It was kind of people to concern themselves about his affairs, but he wished they could be less peculiar. He bowed to Mrs. Lowndes and shook hands with the doctor. He, at least, was understandable. When they had gone the old lady faced her friend with a calmness that surprised him. "Fred, what sorry, what terrible things can make us young again! I feel now as I felt that other night--just at this hour so many years ago--when I knew she'd gone--knew she'd gone." "He's Kitty's boy." The big man fronted her as if for a feat of persuasion. "Don't, Fred! I've just weathered that point. I was weak, but Randall--Randall saved me. He's dreadful, Fred, unnatural, impossible--oh, terribly impossible!" She faced him dauntlessly, her cheeks glowing with faint spots of color. "I liked him, Kitty. He seems----" "You're a physician, accustomed to monstrosities. He's something we don't speak of, my friend. And see--you _must_ see--what he would suffer if he knew." CHAPTER XVI TEEVAN AS SPECIAL PROVIDENCE