"I am sure of it, canon. I will deal then with you as we deal, permit me to say it, with monomaniacs. I will for the present put myself in your place, extraordinary as it may seem, and I must tell you that you have done exactly the contrary of what you ought to have done, if you wish to gain power over this man, who, as you say, controls your destiny." "Explain yourself, my dear abbé." "After all you have confided to me, evidently this cook has no need of a position; having learned of your favourite vice, he has only sought a pretext for introducing himself into your house; his connivance with Captain Horace only proves, do you not see, that their plan was arranged beforehand, and they proposed to use your love of eating as a means of gaining influence over you." "Great God!" cried Dom Diégo, "that is a ray of light!" "Do you confess your blindness now?" "What an infernal plot! What atrocious Machiavellism!" murmured the canon, thoroughly frightened. Then he added, with a sigh of dejection, full of bitterness: "Such dissimulation! Such perfidy united to such beautiful genius! Oh, humanity! Oh, humanity!" "Let me continue," replied the abbé. "You have already, by your unworthy weakness, deprived yourself of one of the three means by which you might have controlled this great cook, since, as he has had the effrontery to warn you beforehand, there are yet two others he intends to exact from you, and he counts on your deplorable readiness to yield, to obtain them. Now, this end once attained, he will laugh at you, and you will see him no more." "Abbé, that is impossible." "Why?" "I tell you, abbé, such treason is impossible. You surely do not believe that men are ferocious beasts,--monsters." "I believe, canon," replied the abbé, with a shrug of the shoulders, "I believe that a cook who gives gratis wines at one or two louis a bottle--" "Wait, pray," interrupted Dom Diégo. "Neither one, nor two, nor six louis would pay the cost of such wines. They were nectar, abbé, they were ambrosia, I tell you!" "All the more reason, canon; a cook who is so prodigal of such costly ambrosia has no need of hiring himself for wages, I imagine." "I not only offered him wages, I offered him, also, my friendship,--think of it, abbé, I said to this perfidious monster, 'Friend, I will not be your master, I will be your admirer.'" "You see that he cared as little for your friendship as for your admiration." "Ah, that would be an ingrate, indeed!" "That may be; but if you wish, in your turn, to put this ingrate at your feet, there is a way for you to do so." "To put him at my feet! Oh, abbé, if you could work this miracle! but, no, no, you are without pity, you play upon my credulity."