"In five minutes he appeared, saluted the Viscount, took six bills of a thousand francs from his pocket, and presented them to him. "It was the amount of the wager. "'Oh, Monsieur,' said the Viscount, 'there was no hurry; besides, perhaps you would have liked your revenge.' "'You would have granted it to me?' "'Surely!' "'When?' "'Immediately.'" But the reputation of the Viscount as a _belle fourchette_ was exceeded by that of a Swiss guard in the employ of the Maréchal de Villars, an account of whose prowess is related by the "Journal des Défenseurs": "One day the guard was sent for by the Maréchal, who had heard of his enormous appetite. "'How many sirloins of beef can you eat?' he tentatively asked. "'Ah! Monseigneur, for me I don't require many, five or six at the most.' "'And how many legs of mutton?' "'Legs of mutton? not many--seven to eight.' "'And of fat pullets?' "'Oh! as to pullets, only a few--a dozen.' "'And of pigeons?' "'As to pigeons, Monseigneur, not many--forty, perhaps fifty.' "'And larks?' "'Larks, Monseigneur?--always!'" Another example of marvellous capacity is furnished by the French army, a captain wagering one day that a drummer of his company could eat a whole calf. The drummer, proud of his distinction, promised to do honour to the captain's compliment. Accordingly, a calf was prepared in various appetising ways, and was being promptly disposed of by the drummer. When he had finally consumed about three quarters of the repast, he paused for another draught of wine, and, placing his knife and fork on his plate, said to his superior officer: "You had better have the calf brought on, had you not? for all these little kickshaws will end in taking up room." The Café de Paris, first opened in 1822 on the Boulevard des Italiens in the large suite of apartments formerly occupied by Prince Demidoff, was the best restaurant in Europe during the forties and in Dumas' time--a position it probably occupies to-day, since the closing of Bignon's. Alfred de Musset was accustomed to say that "one could not open its door for less than fifteen francs." But if its charges were high, its cuisine and service were unsurpassed. Those who dance must pay for the piping, and the cotillion of the casseroles is no exception to the rule. Every one who honoured the establishment, it is said, was considered by the personnel a grand seigneur for whom nothing could be too good. When Balzac one day announced the arrival of a distinguished Russian friend, he asked the proprietor to put his best foot forward. "Assuredly, Monsieur, we will do so," was the answer, "because it is simply what we are in the habit of doing every day." Balzac's favourite dish was _veau à la casserole_, a specialty of the Café de Paris in the forties.