This idea seemed to fascinate Lansade, and he was never weary of trying to improve the aspect of his house. The “retired merchant” was seated in front of his mansion, watching for the arrival of his guests, in order to enjoy their astonishment at the sight of his splendid establishment. As soon as he caught sight of them, he shouted,-- “Hurry, my young friends; breakfast is waiting. I had ceased to look for you, upon my word. I was about to go to the table. What do you think of my little establishment?” The painter and Bonnaud went into ecstasies, the first for politeness, and the second in honest admiration. Eusebe was silent. After considerable trifling chat, the party seated themselves at the table. Those who reside in the suburbs of Paris are wholly ignorant of the charms of a rural repast: they live as they would live in the city. Those who live on the borders of the Seine eat no other fish than those purchased in the market of Paris. Let any one who does not credit this singularity go to Asnières or to Chaton, and he will be convinced. Lansade pressed his guests to satisfy their appetite, and made earnest inquiries as to the quality of the dishes. “How do you find that capon?” “Delicious,” answered Buck, who was obliged to keep up the conversation while Bonnaud ate and Eusebe mused. “Delicious! Your poultry-yard is, then, already populated?” “Not at all. But I have a friend in the market of the Vallée. When I wish to obtain game or poultry, I can always procure the best. I have only to write three days previous. Will you try the _matelotte_?” “Directly. You are in a convenient place for fresh fish.” “Yes, the river is quite near; but the fishermen prefer to send their fish to Paris: they may get a lower price there, but they are sure of a sale. As to fruits, however, the case is different: none can be procured in the whole _commune_.” “That is a trifling misfortune.” “Monsieur Martin, what is the matter with you? You appear sad!” “No.” “You do not eat?” “Pardon me, my dear Lansade.” “It is true,” said Bonnaud: “monsieur is quite abstracted.” “Eusebe,” cried Buck, “these gentlemen speak truly. You have something concealed from us. Are you unhappy? Are you home-sick, my boy? are you anxious to behold your native meadows? Do these maples awaken in you a desire to see once more your tall chestnuts? and the good things spread before us by our friend Lansade, do they remind you of your own rural repasts in the paternal mansion?” “No.” “Then perhaps you have left, seated on the banks of the Vienna, a young shepherdess, who sadly awaits your return?” Lansade laughed rather boisterously. He and his mercantile friend had drank very little, but nevertheless more than usual. “Well,” continued Buck, “let Eusebe swear to us that he is not in love, and I will leave him in peace.” “I never swear.” “Then admit that you are in love, my melancholy friend.” “It is true,” replied Eusebe.