By the time half the game pie, and the first bottle of Chambertin were finished, Thibault knew the history of Népomucène Magloire; not a very complicated one, it must be confessed. Monsieur Magloire was son to a church ornament manufacturer who had worked for the chapel belonging to his Highness the Duke of Orleans, the latter, in his religious zeal having a burning desire to obtain pictures by Albano and Titian for the sum of four to five thousand francs. Chrysostom Magloire had placed his son Népomucène Magloire, as head-cook with Louis’ son, his Highness the Duke of Orleans. The young man had, from infancy almost, manifested a decided taste for cooking; he had been especially attached to the Castle at Villers-Cotterets, and for thirty years presided over his Highness’s dinners, the latter introducing him to his friends as a thorough artist, and from time to time, sending for him to come upstairs to talk over culinary matters with Marshal Richelieu. When fifty-five years of age, Magloire found himself so rounded in bulk, that it was only with some difficulty he could get through the narrow doors of the passages and offices. Fearing to be caught some day like the weasel of the fable, he asked permission to resign his post. The Duke consented, not without regret, but with less regret than he would have felt at any other time, for he had just married Madame de Montesson, and it was only rarely now that he visited his castle at Villers-Cotterets. His Highness had fine old-fashioned ideas as regards superannuated retainers. He, therefore, sent for Magloire, and asked him how much he had been able to save while in his service. Magloire replied that he was happily able to retire with a competence; the Prince, however, insisted upon knowing the exact amount of his little fortune, and Magloire confessed to an income of nine thousand livres. “A man who has provided me with such a good table for thirty years,” said the Prince, “should have enough to live well upon himself for the remainder of his life.” And he made up the income to twelve thousand, so that Magloire might have a thousand livres a month to spend. Added to this, he allowed him to choose furniture for the whole of his house from his own old lumber-room; and thence came the damask curtains and gilt arm chairs, which, although just a little bit faded and worn, had nevertheless preserved that appearance of grandeur which had made such an impression on Thibault. By the time the whole of the first partridge was finished, and half the second bottle had been drunk, Thibault knew that Madame Magloire was the host’s fourth wife, a fact which seemed in his own eyes to add a good foot or two to his height.