The tribunal had its own codes and rules, which were as fixed as the stars. Among these was that no one should speak ill of any one with whom he had dined, for a period proportionate to the importance of the dinner. Each guest was provided with a menu in advance, of which the contributions from outside sources to be adjudged formed only a part. The dinner proper was prepared by the cordon-bleu of La Reynière. In ease of inability to attend, an excuse was obligatory not later than twenty-four hours before the time specified, while a failure to be present after having accepted was punishable by a fine of five hundred francs. This rule was inflexible, as Mlle. Mézeray found to her cost when, having disregarded it, she was banished from the séances for three years, returning, at the expiration of her sentence, only in time to assist at the final meeting of the jury in May, 1812. A quarter of an hour's grace was allowed with reference to the set time of the dinner--not a moment more: a rule the modern host would do well to imitate. Every minute after the prescribed hour for the repast that one is forced to wait for tardy guests becomes a penance to those who are punctual, besides the inconvenience it causes to the entertainer and the cook. La Reynière's fifteen minutes of grace is all-sufficient. During his reign, indeed, there were some who closed their doors to all comers that failed to appear at the precise hour. For the use and greater convenience of the jury, he invented the speaking-tube communicating from the dining-room to the kitchen; the _table volante_, as we have seen, was already in use, and the ascending and descending slide was known. Let it not be inferred, however, that he considered himself a gourmand in the strict sense of the term, despite the title of the work with which he is most closely associated, and the fact that the weekly sittings of the gustatory jury occupied five hours. He would doubtless have drawn the distinction between a gourmand and a gourmet most sharply had such a possibility entered his mind as a dinner of innumerable courses and water, compared with an extended repast of scientifically prepared dishes and their complementary wines. In the former case he could scarcely have projected, much less have completed, the "Almanach," to say nothing of having overtaken his eightieth year. For that matter, he is careful to state, in a letter to the Marquis de Cussy, touching upon the light in which he was placed before the public, that with pen in hand he was always a gourmand, but when the fork took the place of the pen it was quite another matter. It will prove interesting to know how the word "gourmand" was defined by one who was most capable of interpreting it, the differentiation "gourmet" being then much less marked than at present: