Being busily occupied thus in all directions, Goton could do no more than whisper a word of hope to Dubourg, giving him to understand that the peddlers would be gone at daybreak, her employers asleep, and herself more at liberty. This promise delighted our friend; he was talking with Goton at the foot of the staircase, and gave her a resounding kiss. The girl ran away; but, on looking up, Dubourg saw Ménard, who had come out, with a candle in his hand, to ascertain whether they were likely to have any supper, and was decidedly amazed to see the Palatine of Rava embracing a dishwasher. Dubourg, who was never disconcerted, went to meet him, saying: "The Emperor Heliogabalus rewarded the cook who invented a new dish; I embrace the person who informs me that our supper is ready." Ménard asked nothing more; he went back to Frédéric with Dubourg, and Goton laid the table in one of the rooms. "Now to the table, and _vive la gaieté_!" said Dubourg, more at ease since he was certain that he would soon be rid of his carriage. Ménard responded to the invitation by a gracious smile, and Frédéric finally decided to leave the moon and turn his mind to earthly affairs. "Let us taste the wine first of all," said Dubourg; "is it the best, my child?" "Yes, monsieur; it's the best, for we haven't got any other." "It's a little sour," said Ménard, making a wry face. "We have some white that's sweeter," said Goton. "Go and get us some of the white, my dear; don't spare anything; you don't have people like us to supper every day." "No, indeed," said Ménard; "and we will hope that the rabbit stew is made with that understanding." Dubourg served the stew; but the innkeeper, disturbed by his wife's adventure in the corridor, had allowed it to burn, and Goton, being constantly beset by the four peddlers, had put the onions in too late and had not grated the bacon. Dubourg vainly insisted on declaring that it had a delicious odor; Ménard said nothing, because he dared not contradict monsieur le baron; but his face grew darker with every mouthful. "What infernal kind of a stew is this?" said Frédéric, pushing away the plate that Dubourg persisted in offering him. "A rabbit that has had nothing to eat but cabbage, raw onions, and rancid lard; and a detestable burned taste, in addition." "It can't be denied," said Ménard, "that it doesn't come up to what monsieur le baron told us." "What do you expect, messieurs?" said Dubourg; "a cook must make mistakes sometimes. _Errare humanum est_; isn't that so, Monsieur Ménard?" "A cook ought never _errare_, monsieur le baron." "It's partly your fault, too. You disturbed his mind; why in the devil did you go prowling about under his wife's skirts?" "I only wanted to get by, monsieur le baron." "Only a husband should take that road, Monsieur Ménard." "My intentions were pure, monsieur le baron." "I never doubted it; but your position was shockingly equivocal."