"M. David, M. Bastien having disposed of your chamber for a few days, will you consent to having a bed prepared for you in the chamber with old André?--unfortunately we have no other place for you." "Nothing easier, madame," replied David, smiling. "I have the honour of being somewhat at home; so it is for me to yield the chamber I occupy to a stranger." David bowed again and left the dining-room. After the departure of the preceptor, Jacques Bastien, entirely unconscious of his coarseness, sat down to the table, for he was very hungry in spite of the anger he nursed against his wife and son. Each one took his place. Jacques Bastien had Bridou on his right, Frederick on his left, and Marie sat opposite. The anxiety of the young woman made her seek to change the subject of conversation constantly; she feared Jacques might discover the absence of the silver plate. This revelation, however, hung upon a new incident. Jacques Bastien, removing the cover from the soup tureen, dilated his wide nostrils, so as to inhale the aroma of the cabbage soup he had ordered, but, finding his expectation mistaken, he cried furiously, addressing his wife: "What! no cabbage soup? and I wrote to you expressly that I wanted it. Perhaps there is no leg of mutton with cloves either?" "I do not know, monsieur, I forgot to--" "By God's thunder, what a woman,--there!" cried Jacques, furiously, throwing the tureen cover down on the table so violently that it broke in pieces. At the brutal exclamation of his father, Frederick betrayed his indignation by an abrupt movement. Immediately Marie, pressing her son's hand under the table, signified her disapproval, and he restrained himself, but his quick resentment did not escape the eye of Jacques, who, after looking a long time at his son in silence, said to Bridou: "Come, my comrade, we must content ourselves with this slop." "It is pot luck, my old fellow," said the bailiff. "Pot luck, eh, eh, we all know that." "Come," said Jacques, "let us at least say our grace before eating." And he poured out a bumper for Bridou, after which he emptied almost the rest of the bottle in an enormous glass, which he was accustomed to use, and which held a pint. The obese Hercules swallowed this bumper at one draught, then, disposing himself comfortably to serve the soup, he took in his hand an iron spoon, plated over, and bright with cleanliness. "Why in the devil did you put this pot ladle here?" said he to Marie. "Monsieur, I do not know," replied the young woman, looking down and stammering, "I--" "Why not put on the table my large silver ladle, as usual," asked Jacques. "Is it because my comrade Bridou has come to dine here?" Then, addressing his son, he said, abruptly: "Get the silver ladle from the buffet."