"To-day, this hour!" cried the canon, shrugging his shoulders. "You do not know, then, that for two accursed months I have been in this deplorable state; that there is nothing I can taste; that this morning I have left untouched a breakfast ordered from Chevet, who supplies me until my kitchen is well appointed. Ah, if you did not have the appearance of an honest man, I would think you came to insult my misery,--proposing to cook for me when I am never the least hungry." "Sir, my name is Appetite." "But I repeat to you, my dear friend, that only an hour ago I refused the choicest things." "So much the better, my lord, I could not present myself to you at a more favourable juncture; my triumph will be great." "Listen, my dear friend, I cannot tell you if it is the influence of your name, or the learned and exalted manner with which you speak of your art, which gives me confidence in you, in spite of myself; but I experience, I will not say, a desire to eat, because I would challenge you to make me swallow the wing of an ortolan; but indeed I experience, in hearing you reason upon cooking, a pleasure which makes me hope that perhaps, later, if appetite returns to me, I--" "My lord, pardon me if I interrupt you; you have a kitchen here?" "Certainly, with every appointment. A fire has just been kindled there to keep warm what was brought already prepared from Chevet, but, alas! utterly useless." "Will you give me, sir, a half-hour?" "What to do?" "To prepare a breakfast for you, sir." "With what?" "I have brought all that is necessary." "But what is the good of this breakfast, my dear friend? Go, believe me, and do not compromise a talent in which I am pleased to believe, by engaging in a foolish, impossible undertaking." "Sir, will you give me a half-hour?" "But I ask again, for what good?" "To make you eat an excellent breakfast, sir, which will predispose you for a still better dinner." "That is folly, I tell you; you are mad." "Try, my lord; what do you risk?" "Go on, then, you must be a magician." "I am, sir, perhaps," replied the cook, with a strange smile. "Very well, bear then the penalty of your own pride," cried Dom Diégo, ringing violently. "If you are instantly overwhelmed with humiliation, and are compelled to confess the impotence of your art, it is you who would have it. Take care, take care." "You will eat, my lord," replied the artist, in a professional tone; "yes, you will eat, and much, and deliciously." At the moment the cook pronounced these rash words the majordomo, called by the sound of the bell, entered. "Pablo," said the canon, "open the kitchen to this man, and lay a cover for me. Justice must be done." "But, sir, this morning--" "Do as I tell you, conduct M. Appetite to the kitchen, and if he has need of help, let some one help him." "I have need of no one, sir, I am accustomed to work alone in my laboratory. I ask of you permission to shut myself in."