The dinner was a magnificent affair: three courses, four entrées to each. Monin had no time to visit his snuff-box; he had not gone beyond the anchovies, when the first course disappeared. La Thomassinière found an opportunity to say that the madeira was poor, that the olives were too salt, that the butter was not so good as that made on his country place at Fleury, and that two servants were not enough to serve twenty people. To be sure, he was often obliged to ask twice for a dish, because Domingo never came quickly enough, and Baptiste got confused and lost his head running around the table. During the second course Baptiste dropped a dish of macaroni on Madame Monin, and Domingo broke a pile of plates because he tried to run. Madame Monin shrieked because her dress of Naples silk was spotted, and Madame Destival tried to pacify her. Monsieur Destival scolded his servants, and Monin dared not fill his glass again because Bichette was in a rage. Although he drank freely of all the wines, La Thomassinière kept repeating that he had much better ones in his cellar. Destival made wry faces at his wife, who was bright enough to pretend to pay no attention to the parvenu's absurd talk. Athalie seemed to be bored by the insipid remarks of her neighbors; Madame Monin was apparently attempting the conquest of Monsieur Bisbis, who fidgeted on his chair, uncertain how to eat the charlotte russe, which he finally decided to attack with his fork. Monin longingly eyed the Roman punch, which he feared would never reach him, and he said twice to Baptiste: "I say--er--servant, give me some of that dish they're passing over there." But Baptiste, still in ill humor, walked away, muttering between his teeth: "I've got something else to do. How all these people eat! There won't be anything left for us!" Monin, his appeal being disregarded by Baptiste, decided to apply to Domingo, to whom he gave his plate, saying: "Negro, just ask for a little of that shiny stuff for--for a person." Domingo presented the plate to Monsieur Destival, who was serving the Roman punch. "A little shiny stuff," he said, "for little man with big nose." Everybody laughed, Madame Monin alone taking it very ill that the negro should presume so to designate her husband; and she vented her wrath on a third dish of cream, saying to Monsieur Bisbis: "I'd rather be served by four chimney-sweeps than a negro." After the coffee and the liqueurs, they left the table in about as hilarious a mood as when they sat down; that is to say, everyone was bored, as is usually the case at a formal dinner. But the people invited for the evening were already coming in crowds; and Destival was enchanted, because there was hardly room to move, and everyone exclaimed: "Mon Dieu! what a crowd! how hot it is here!" The card tables were set out, and Monsieur de la Thomassinière took his seat at an écarté table, tossing his purse on the table, saying: "I play for nothing but gold."