“Mlle. Raymonde Mairieux, Monsieur.” She had taught me a lesson; what right had I to address her so familiarly? But I did not understand at first, and having caught only her first name I answered: “Raymonde? And I am Raymond.” I burst out into a stupid laugh at a coincidence that was sufficiently trivial. My laughter completed her fear, my laughter and my goatskin motor coat as well, which gave me the appearance of some shaggy animal. She hurried back to hide herself in the lodge, as a hunted hare seeks its form. I followed her, opened the door without ringing, entered a hall and then a room which I found to be the kitchen. There I breathed the appetising odour of a dish of potatoes au-gratin, which gave promise of being delicious. It was not far from noon and I was very hungry. In fashionable restaurants one cannot get true potatoes au-gratin. This particular dish made my nostrils dilate with desire. I leaned over it. I inhaled the odour with avidity. Nothing in the world would have induced me to leave without tasting it. Already a threatening cook, emerging from the pantry, was shrieking aloud at the sight of a wild animal in her kitchen. She shook a soup ladle in her hand, crying out at the thief. I tried in vain to reassure her. “No, no! My Heavens, I will pay you what you want,” I said. The superintendent, M. Mairieux, attracted by the commotion, now ran into the room. He did not waste any time, but would have thrown me out bodily without listening to me. At last I succeeded in explaining my presence, and my desire both to buy the chateau and to devour the potatoes. “The chateau, yes,” he replied, “the gratin, no.” Nothing excited me like contradiction. “I shall not take the one without the other,” I declared. “The chateau and the gratin at the market price.” “My dinner is not for sale,” said M. Mairieux. “Then invite me.” “I don’t know who you are,” he returned. This conversation was being carried on in a kitchen which I had entered by force. Despite my self-satisfaction, I had to admit that my manner of introducing myself was hardly a correct one. I opened my coat, therefore, which, incidentally, was suffocating me, and presented my card. At the same time I offered to write a cheque at once for the price of the property. At this the superintendent multiplied the number of his objections. “It is impossible,” he said, “you have not seen the place.” “One glance has been sufficient for me. It pleases me.” “But we must discuss the price. It is my duty to protect the interests of Count d’Alligny. The amount which he named is not definite.” “Then you can arrange that with him,” I said; “and now for the dinner table. That gratin should be delicious.” My companion evidently took me for a lunatic, but an unexpected ally presented herself in the person of the cook, who, flattered by my compliment, suggested that she set another place. I clapped my hands.