"Little by little an odour passed through the door, so delicious, so exquisite, so tempting, so exciting, that it was impossible for me to go away. If I had been nailed to the door I could not have been more immovable. I was bewildered, fascinated, entranced!" "Truly, Pablo?" "You know, my lord, that you gave me the excellent breakfast they brought to you this morning." "Alas! yes." "That breakfast I have eaten, my lord." "Happy Pablo!" "Well, sir, this odour of which I tell you was so appetising that I felt myself seized with a furious hunger, and, without leaving the door, I took from one of the shelves of the pantry a large piece of dry bread." "And you ate it, Pablo?" "I devoured it, my lord." "Dry?" "Dry," replied the majordomo, bowing his head. "Dry!" cried the canon, raising his hands and eyes to heaven. "It is a miracle! He breakfasted an hour ago like an ogre, and now he has just bolted a piece of dry bread!" "Yes, my lord, this dry bread, seasoned with that juicy odour, seemed to me the most delicious of morsels." At this moment the clock struck noon. "Noon!" cried the majordomo. "This marvellous cook instructed me to serve you, my lord, at noon precisely. The cover is already laid on the little table. I am going to bring it." "Go, Pablo," said the canon, with a meditative air. "My destiny is about to be accomplished. The miracle, if it is a miracle, is going to be performed,--if it is to be performed; for I swear, in spite of all you have just told me, I have not the least appetite. I have a heavy stomach and a clammy mouth. Go, Pablo, I am waiting." There was a resignation full of doubt, of curiosity, of anguish, and of vague hope, in the accent with which Dom Diégo uttered the words, "I am waiting." Soon the majordomo reappeared. He walked with a solemn air, bearing on a tray a little chafing-dish of silver, the size of a plate, surmounted with its stew-pan. On the side of the tray was a small crystal flagon, filled with a limpid liquid, the colour of burnt topaz. Pablo, as he approached, several times held his nose to the edge of the stew-pan to inhale the appetising exhalations which escaped from it; finally, he placed on the table the little chafing-dish, the flagon, and a small card. "Pablo," asked the canon, pointing to the chafing-dish, surmounted with its pan, "what is that silver plate?" "It belongs to M. Appetite, sir; under this pan is a dish with a double bottom, filled with boiling water, because this great man says the food must be eaten burning hot." "And that flagon, Pablo?" "Its use is marked on the card, sir, which informs you of all the dishes you are going to eat." "Let me see this card," said the canon, and he read: "'Guinea fowl eggs fried in the fat of quails, relieved with a gravy of crabs. "'N. B. Eat burning hot, make only one mouthful of each egg, after having softened it well with the gravy. "'Masticate _pianissimo._