For the next day the programme included a grand promenade _a la mode de Versailles_, a collation in the park, under great trees laden with the freshest verdure of spring, a stag-hunt by moonlight, a brilliant display of fireworks, then a supper in the banqueting hall of the chateau. And still all went well. At least all thought so but Vatel; but as for that prince of cooks, he was in despair. A frightful disaster had occurred. After the days and nights of anxiety and care in preparing for this grand occasion, for a failure now to take place, it was to him unpardonable, unsupportable. Tidings of his distress were brought to Conde. The generous prince sought his room to console him. "Vatel," said he, "what is this I hear? The king's supper was superb." "Monseigneur," said Vatel, tears in his eyes. "The _roti_ was wanting at two tables." "Not at all," replied the prince. "You surpassed yourself; nothing could have been better; everything was perfect." Vatel, somewhat relieved by this praise, sought his couch, and a morsel of sleep visited his eyelids. But the shadow of doom still hung over his career. By break of day he was up again. Others might lie late abed, but there could be no such indulgence for him; for was not he the power behind the throne? What would this grand fete be should his genius fail, his powers prove unequal to the strain? King and prince, lord and lady might slumber, but Vatel must be up and alert. Fresh fish formed an essential part of the menu which he had laid out for the dining-tables of the third day. He had ordered them from every part of the coast. Would they come? Could the fates fail him now, at this critical moment of his life? The anxious chief went abroad to view the situation. His eyes lighted. A fisher-boy had just arrived with two loads of fish, fresh brought from the coast. Vatel looked at them, and then gazed around with newly disturbed eyes. "Is that all?" he asked, his voice faltering. "That is all, sir," answered the boy, who knew nothing about the numerous orders. Vatel turned pale. All? These few fish all he had to offer his multitude of guests? Only a miracle could divide these so as to give a portion to each. He waited, despair slowly descending upon his heart. In vain his anxious wait; no more fish appeared. Vatel's anxiety was fast becoming despair. The disaster of the night before, to be followed by this terrible stroke--it was more than his artistic soul could bear; disgrace had come upon him in its direst form; his reputation was at stake. He met Gourville, a wit and factotum of the court, and told him of his misfortune. "It is disgrace, ruin," he cried; "I cannot survive it." Gourville heard him with merry laughter. To his light mind the affair seemed only a good joke. It was not so to Vatel. He sought his room and locked himself in.