“But I am forgetting our breakfast! Perhaps you are hungry?” “Why yes, madame, I am very hungry,” Chérubin at once replied. “And it seems that your appetite deprives you of the power of speech,” said Madame Célival with a smile. “Mon Dieu! why didn’t you remind me? I don’t want to see you fall dead from starvation. Please ring that bell.” Chérubin pulled a cord and a maid appeared. “Serve breakfast,” said Madame Célival.--”We will breakfast here,” she added, turning to Chérubin, “because then we shall not be disturbed by anybody; if any unwelcome visitor calls, they will say that I’m not at home. Do you think that I have done well?” “Oh, yes, madame, it will be much pleasanter!” Madame Célival smiled again; perhaps she thought that their tête-à-tête would become pleasanter; but this is mere conjecture. The maid quickly laid the table with two covers. Chérubin noticed that she placed the dessert on a small table beside the large one, which was covered with dishes. Then Madame Célival dismissed her, saying: “If I want you, I will ring.--And now,” said the fascinating brunette, offering her hand to the young man, who continued to gaze at her admiringly, “take your seat, monsieur le marquis, and excuse me for treating you so unceremoniously; but this is not a formal breakfast.” Madame Célival’s informal breakfast consisted of a _terrine de Nérac_, a stuffed partridge, small birds _aux pistaches_, and a superb dish of crabs; and on the small table were pastry, preserves, and a compote of plums, for dessert; lastly, several decanters of choice wines indicated that the hostess did not propose that her young guest should retain his self-possession unimpaired. Chérubin was seated beside Madame Célival, who helped him to everything, but ate very little; by way of compensation, the young man ate for two. After he was at the table, he felt much less embarrassed, more inclined to talk; he concluded that he had guessed aright, and that to eat and drink freely would give him assurance; so he did honor to everything that was set before him and drank whatever was poured into his glass. Madame Célival was very lively; she knew the art of keeping the conversation from flagging; and she seemed delighted by the way in which her companion did honor to the breakfast. “Really,” she said laughingly, “I am not surprised that you didn’t say anything just now, that you seemed so taciturn! It was because you were dying of hunger.” “It is true, madame, that I have an excellent appetite; and then, with you, it seems to me that one must needs always be hungry.” “Oh! I don’t feel sure whether I ought to take that for a compliment or not! There is a proverb which would rather work against me.” “What is the proverb, madame?” “As you don’t know it, I won’t tell you.--Now, we will proceed to the dessert; I had it put within our reach, so that we need not ring; all we have to do is to change tables. Don’t you think that that is pleasanter?”