[Illustration:  The Young and Brave]

The average age of the Ogams was seventy.  True, there was Dunois the Young and Brave, who could not have been more than forty-five.  What his name really was we knew not, but something in his comparatively juvenile appearance among the chevaliers suggested the appellation which for lack of a better we retained.  Dunois’ youth might only be comparative, but his bravery was indubitable; for who among the Ogams but he was daring enough to tackle the pate-de-foie-gras, or the abattis, a stew composed of the gizzards and livers of fowls?  And who but Dunois would have been so reckless as to follow baked mussels and crepinettes with rognons frits?

Dunois, too, revealed intrepid leanings toward strange liquors.  Sometimes—­it was usually at dejeuner when he had dined out on the previous evening—­he would demand the wine-list of Iorson, and rejecting the vin blanc or vin rouge which, being compris, contented the others, would order himself something of a choice brand.  One of his favourite papers was Le Rire, and Henri, Iorson’s youthful assistant, regarded him with admiration.

[Illustration:  Malcontent]

A less attractive presence in the dining-room was Madame.  Madame, who was an elderly dame of elephantine girth, had resided in the hotel for half a dozen years, during which period her sole exercise had been taken in slowly descending from her chamber in the upper regions for her meals, and then, leisurely assimilation completed, in yet more slowly ascending.  Madame’s allotted seat was placed in close proximity to the hot-air register; and though Madame was usually one of the first to enter the dining-room, she was generally the last to leave.  Madame’s appetite was as animated as her body was lethargic.  She always drank her half-bottle of red wine to the dregs, and she invariably concluded with a greengage in brandy.  So it was small marvel that, when at last she left her chair to “tortoise” upstairs, her complexion should be two shades darker than when she descended.

Five dishes, irrespective of hors d’oeuvres at luncheon, and potage at dinner, were allowed each guest, and Madame’s selection was an affair of time.  Our hotel was justly noted for its cuisine, yet on infrequent occasions the food supplied to Madame was not to her mind.  At these times the whole establishment suffered until the irascible old lady’s taste was suited.  One night at dinner Iorson had the misfortune to serve Madame with some turkey that failed to meet with her approval.  With the air of an insulted empress, Madame ordered its removal.  The conciliatory Iorson obediently carried off the dish and speedily returned, bearing what professed to be another portion.  But from the glimpse we got as it passed our table we had a shrewd suspicion that Iorson the wily had merely turned over the piece of turkey and re-served it with a little more gravy and an additional dressing of cressons.  Madame, it transpired, shared our suspicions, for this portion also she declined, with renewed indignation.  Then followed a long period of waiting, wherein Madame, fidgeting restlessly on her seat, kept fierce eyes fixed on the door through which the viands entered.