With Gaspard ill she was able to manipulate the affairs of the kitchen exactly as she chose, and even in the moment of applying the "hot at the base of the brain and the cold at the forehead" that the doctor had prescribed as the most effective method for relieving the pressure of blood in the tortured temples of the suffering man, she had been conscious of that thrill of triumph that most human beings feel when the involuntary removal of the man higher up invests them with power. Michael did the marketing, and the list went through as Gaspard had planned it, with some slight adaptations to the exigency, such as the substitution of twenty-five cans of tomato soup for the fresh vegetables with which Gaspard had planned to make his tomato bisque, and brandied peaches in glass jars instead of peach soufflé. "If I allow myself a little handicap in the matter of details," she said, "I know I can put everything else through as well as Gaspard;" whereupon she enveloped herself in a huge linen apron, tucked her hair into one of the chef's white caps, and attacked the problem of preparing luncheon for from sixty-five to two hundred people, who were scheduled to appear at uncertain intervals between the hours of twelve and two-thirty. Later she must be ready to serve tea and ices to a problematical number of patrons, but she tried not to think beyond the immediate task. She could make a very good tomato bisque by adding one cup of milk and a dash of cream to one half-pint can of MacDonald's tomato soup, enough to serve three people adequately, and she proceeded to multiply that recipe by twenty-five. She didn't think of getting large cans till Michael in the process of opening the half-pint tins made the belated suggestion, which she greeted with some hauteur. "I'm not the person to mind a little extra work, Michael, when I am sure of my results. Precision--that's the secret of the difference between American and French cooking." "An' sure and I fail to see the difference between the preciseness of a quart can and four half-pint ones, but I suppose it's my ignorance now." "Your supposition is correct, Michael," she said airily, but out of the corner of her eye she saw him smiling to himself over the growing heap of half-pint tins, and reddened with mortification at her naiveté in the matter. She looked at the vat of terra-cotta purée with considerable dismay when she had stirred in the last measure of cream. Twenty-five pints of tomato bisque is a rather formidable quantity of a liquid the chief virtue of which is its sparing and judicious introduction into the individual diet scheme. Nancy hardly felt that she wanted to be alone with it. "They'll soon lick it all up, and be polishing their plates like so many Tom-cats," Michael said, indicating their potential patronage by waving his hand toward the courtyard. "Here comes Miss Betty, now. She'll be after lending a hand in the cooking."