"Marcel, you are incorrigible, you ought to be made to stand up and say fifty paternosters before each meal. By the way, Delapine, we are very anxious for you to tell us your opinion on some of the fundamental points relating to spiritualism." "Don't you answer him, professor," said Marcel, with his mouth half full of caviar sandwich. "Just try my recipe for eating caviar. It is positively entrancing, and consists of spreading it between this slice of brown bread and butter (it must be brown), with a trace of cayenne pepper and a few drops of vinegar, and then laying it on a rich green carpet of mustard and cress. By Jove, it is food for the gods. I consider a man who discovers a new dish renders a far greater service to mankind than one who discovers a new planet. We have planets enough already, but we can never have good dishes enough. If I were sufficiently rich I should select all my servants from chefs of renown. My valets, pages, butler, coachman, courier, and footman should all be cooks of the highest reputation, and each should be a specialist in some particular dish or entrée. For example, I should be undressed by an expert in curries, bathed by my connoisseur of wines, put to bed by a specialist in soups, and waited on by a man who had won eternal fame by his profound knowledge of Riz de veau à la Financière." "What does that mean?" asked Céleste. "A smile of a calf to the banker's wife, mademoiselle," replied Marcel, helping himself to some blue trout with sauce Madeire. Renée looked up and smiled at Delapine who slipped his hand into hers under the table-cloth. She felt indescribably happy, but a glance at her father, who was looking directly at her, brought her eyes down, and her heart thumped violently as she let go her lover's hand. Had Payot seen her smile? She dared not look at Delapine again, much as she wanted to, and although a moment earlier she had been so happy, she now felt crushed like a wounded bird. "Oh, this cruel, cruel world," she said to herself, "why cannot they leave people alone to enjoy themselves?" And her appetite seemed to leave her all in a moment. "Please do not pay any attention to me, or even notice me," she said sotto voce to Delapine. "I am so afraid you will betray our secret." Delapine listened quietly while gazing vacantly at a stream bordered by very fuzzy willow trees in the Corot which was hanging on the wall opposite, and made some irrelevant remark to his right-hand neighbour (who happened to be Madame Villebois) about the way in which pigs are trained to dig up truffles. "Large iron rings are inserted through their noses," he said, "so that when the pigs dig up the truffles the rings prevent their eating them, and so the keeper is able to rescue the dainty morsels, and toss them into his basket."