“Pray, my good madam,” inquired the Prince, “has your master returned?” “Mr. Beckendorff is in the library, sir,” said the old lady, pompously. “Indeed! we do not dine in this room, then?” “Dine, sir!” said the good dame, forgetting her pomposity in her astonishment. “Yes, dine,” said the Prince. “Mr. Beckendorff never takes anything after his noon meal.” “Am I to understand, then, that we are to have no dinner?” asked his Highness, angry and agitated. “Mr. Beckendorff never takes anything after his noon meal, sir; but I am sure that if you and your friend are hungry, sir, I hope there is never a want in this house.” “My good lady, I am hungry, very hungry, indeed; and if your master, I mean Mr. von, that is Mr. Beckendorff, has such a bad appetite that he can satisfy himself with picking, once a day, the breast of a pheasant; why, if he expect his friends to be willing or even able to live on such fare, the least that I can say is, that he is much mistaken; and so, therefore, my good friend Grey, I think we had better order our horses and be off.” “No occasion for that, I hope,” said Mrs. Clara, rather alarmed at the Prince’s passion; “no want, I trust, ever here, sir; and I make no doubt you will have dinner as soon as possible; and so, sir, I hope you will not be hasty.” “Hasty! I have no wish to be hasty; but as for disarranging the whole economy of the house, and getting up an extemporaneous meal for me, I cannot think of it. Mr. Beckendorff may live as he likes, and if I stay here I am contented to live as he does. I do not wish him to change his habits for me, and I shall take care that, after today, there will be no necessity for his doing so. However, absolute hunger can make no compliments; and therefore I will thank you, my good madam, to let me and my friend have the remains of that cold game, if they be still in existence, on which we lunched, or, as you term it, took our noon meal, this morning; and which, if it were your own cooking, Mrs. Clara, I assure you, as I observed to my friend at the time, did you infinite credit.” The Prince, although his gentlemanlike feelings had, in spite of his hunger, dictated a deprecation of Mrs. Clara’s making a dinner merely for himself, still thought that a seasonable and deserved compliment to the lady might assist in bringing about a result which, notwithstanding his politeness, he much desired; and that was the production of another specimen of her culinary accomplishments. Having behaved, as he considered, with moderation and dignified civility, he was, it must be confessed, rather astounded when Mrs. Clara, duly acknowledging his compliment by her curtsey, was sorry to inform him that she dared give no refreshment in this house without Mr. Beckendorff’s special order. “Special order! Why! surely your master will not grudge me the cold leg of a pheasant?” “Mr. Beckendorff is not in the habit of grudging anything,” answered the housekeeper, with offended majesty.