The Porter—­Monsieur has sent for me?

Poirier—­Yes, Francois, Monsieur has sent for you.  You can put the sign on the door at once.

The Porter—­The sign?

Poirier—­“To let immediately, a magnificent apartment on the first floor, with stables and carriage houses.”

The Porter—­The apartment of Monsieur le Marquis?

Poirier—­You have said it, Francois.

The Porter—­But Monsieur le Marquis has not given the order.

Poirier—­Who is the master here, donkey?  Who owns this mansion?

The Porter—­You, Monsieur.

Poirier—­Then do what I tell you without arguing.

The Porter—­Yes, Monsieur. [Enter Vatel.]

Poirier—­Go, Francois. [Exit Porter.] Come in, Monsieur Vatel:  you are getting up a big dinner for to-morrow?

Vatel—­Yes, Monsieur, and I venture to say that the menu would not be disowned by my illustrious ancestor himself.  It is really a work of art, and Monsieur Poirier will be astonished.

Poirier—­Have you the menu with you?

Vatel—­No, Monsieur, it is being copied; but I know it by heart.

Poirier—­Then recite it to me.

Vatel—­Le potage aux ravioles a l’Italienne et le potage a l’orge a la Marie Stuart.

Poirier—­You will replace these unknown concoctions by a good meat soup, with some vegetables on a plate.

Vatel—­What, Monsieur?

Poirier—­I mean it.  Go on.

Vatel—­Releve.  La carpe du Rhin a la Lithuanienne, les poulardes a la Godard—­le filet de boeuf braise aux raisins a la Napolitaine, le jambon de Westphalie, rotie madere.

Poirier—­Here is a simpler and far more sensible fish course:  brill with caper sauce—­then Bayonne ham with spinach, and a savory stew of bird, with well-browned rabbit.

Vatel—­But, Monsieur Poirier—­I will never consent.

Poirier—­I am master—­do you hear?  Go on.

Vatel—­Entrees.  Les filets de volaille a la concordat—­les croustades de truffe garnies de foies a la royale, le faison etoffe a la Montpensier, les perdreaux rouges farcis a la bohemienne.

Poirier—­In place of these side dishes we will have nothing at all, and we will go at once to the roast,—­that is the only essential.

Vatel—­That is against the precepts of art.

Poirier—­I’ll take the blame of that:  let us have your roasts.

Vatel—­It is not worth while, Monsieur:  my ancestor would have run his sword through his body for a less affront.  I offer my resignation.

Poirier—­And I was about to ask for it, my good friend; but as one has eight days to replace a servant—­

Vatel—­A servant, Monsieur?  I am an artist!