As soon as they came they were put into salt and water and an hour later into boiling water, and parboiled for fifteen minutes, and cold water poured over them. All gristle and skin was now removed, and one cut into small pieces. An hour before dinner the remains of the fricasseed fowl were brought out. Less than half had been eaten. There remained a wing, part of the breast, a leg, and the back and side bones. Molly cut the drumstick off, laid it with the side bones for a grill for breakfast,—it would help out the minced mutton; the rest, which were nice joints, she laid, covered with sauce as they were, in a plate, and told Marta to beat an egg, dip them in it, taking care every part was covered; then to lay them in abundance of cracker crumbs, pat them gently, and fry them just like breaded chops. Meantime she had gathered the sauce from the chicken, which, by her direction, had been poured over it when the dish was changed, and put it into a small saucepan with a gill of stock, then the pieces of sweetbread, and put the saucepan where it would simmer. She then cut circles from slices of stale bread, half an inch thick, each circle cut in half to form canapées; she dipped each in milk, and then laid it in flour, covered it well with flour, and left it so. “Marta, when you fry the chicken, drop these pieces of bread in the pot. Be sure to shake off all superfluous flour; handle them gently for fear of breaking, and let them fry pale brown. Be careful for the first minute after they are in; they will sputter, as they are wet. Lay them round the sweetbreads when you take them up.” Marta had already sliced some tomatoes; these were laid in a dish, and bread crumbs, bits of butter, and pepper and salt sprinkled over each layer, on the top more crumbs and tiny bits of butter thickly strewed; then the dish was put to bake for half an hour. “Marta, a few minutes before taking up the sweetbreads, stir into the gravy a small tea-spoonful of white thickening. I see it will not be thick enough with the fricassee sauce. Now you have potatoes on, tomatoes in the oven, your frying-kettle back of the stove, soup ready to heat up five minutes before dinner, chicken ready crumbed, and I will make a vanilla soufflé.” Gouffe’s recipe for vanilla soufflé was as follows, Molly using only a third of the original, which calls for a quart of milk: