"Let's make up our minds at once what we'll have," said Virginie, who was accustomed to country restaurants. "Is the beefsteak tender?" "Oh! delicious, madame." "With kidneys, eh, my friend?" "Yes, they are essential.--Have you any kidneys, monsieur l'hôte?" "Here, monsieur, just smell this," said the landlord, holding a saucepan under Auguste's nose. "I won't tell you, as my confrères in Paris do, that they're stewed in champagne, but I'll swear it's white wine, and delicious." "Very good." "And a pigeon pie, if you please, delicious also." "Some asparagus and lettuce." "If monsieur would like a fine omelette soufflée?" "Ah, yes! I remember very well that you make very good ones." "Yes, monsieur; they puff up like a cotton nightcap." "Let us have an omelette soufflée then. Give us a private room, please." "Take monsieur and madame to the unoccupied room on the first floor." A waiter, who was no longer young, but who smiled all the time, escorted the newcomers to a room that looked on the forest. "Why not give us the room opposite?" asked Virginie; "the outlook is better, we can see the road." "There is somebody there, madame--a party." "In that case, let us stay here," said Auguste. The waiter laid the table, then left the room, saying: "I will go and see to the dinner; if monsieur wants anything before it is ready, he can call." That meant that he would not come up unless he was called. Such people are almost as cunning in the country as in Paris. Auguste did not call for some time, because they felt that they must rest before dinner, and moreover the private rooms of the Tournebride made Mademoiselle Virginie very romantic; at all events, that is what she told Auguste, laughing like a madcap, which, by the way, is not romantic; but Mademoiselle Virginie had a way of her own of being romantic. At last the stomach made itself heard; and in face of that domineering master, all illusions vanish. The most romantic of mortals, standing in rapt admiration before a rushing torrent or a waterfall, is compelled to make an end when the dinner-bell rings. Virginie and Auguste were admiring neither a torrent nor a waterfall; I am not certain that they were absorbed in admiration of anything; but I know that they opened their door and beat a tattoo upon it with knife handles--a method of attracting attention which makes bells unnecessary. The waiter brought up the dinner, to which they did justice; the beefsteak and kidneys were in truth delicious, and they had no ground for complaint. While the waiter was present, Mademoiselle Virginie, who was reasonably curious, expressed surprise that the party opposite should be so silent that they did not hear voices, whereas, ordinarily, the guests at country restaurants are very noisy. The young woman concluded her remarks by asking the waiter: "Isn't it a large party?" The old waiter replied, smiling so as to show the whole of his three remaining teeth: "It's no larger than yours."