“At any other time Monsieur could have had two, if he pleased, but to-day all our eggs have gone into this custard.  The young gentleman ordered his repast by telegraph, and we did our best.  As for the figs, he brought them himself; but if Monsieur would have a cutlet of the veau, or——­”

“Give me a bottle of wine, and some bread and cheese.  I do not like the veau,” I said, with the testiness of a hungry man disappointed.  As I spoke, my eyes were on the boy, who ate his breast of chicken daintily.  Pretty as he was, I should have liked to kick him.

“Little brat,” I apostrophised him once more, in my mind.  “If he were not a pig, he would ask me to accept half his meal.  Not that I would take it.  I’d be shot first, so he’d be quite safe; but he might have the decency to offer.”

Worse was to come, however.  I had not yet plumbed the black depths of the Brat’s selfishness.

“Certainly, Monsieur; we have very good cheese,” madame assured me soothingly.  “If Monsieur would be pleased to step downstairs.”

“I should prefer to remain here,” I replied.  “This is the room, is it not, where Napoleon had his dejeuner?”

“The same, Monsieur, in every particular.  But unfortunately, it is for the moment the private sitting-room of this young gentleman, who has made me an extra price to keep it for himself.”

The poor old lady suffered manifest distress in breaking this news to me, and even in my evil mood I could not add intentionally to her pain.  As for it cause, however, he sat absolutely unmoved.  I think, indeed, from the blue light in his great eyes (which was absolutely impish), that the situation whetted his appetite.  I did not deign another glance at the little wretch, as I went out, discomfited, but I felt that he was grinning at my back.

In a room below, I had a very creditable meal, which I should have enjoyed more, had my nerves not been jarred to viciousness.  In the midst, I heard footsteps running downstairs, and presently outside the door of the salle-a-manger the boy’s voice—­sweet still with childish cadences, as a boy’s is before the change to manhood first breaks, then deepens it.

“If he comes in here, I shall be inclined to throw a rind of cheese at his head,” I thought; but he did not beard me in my den.  The voice passed away, and presently I heard another, unmistakably that of a woman, giving vent to strange profanities in softest Provencal French.  The speaker was apostrophising some person or animal, who was, according to her, the most insupportable of Heaven’s creatures; and at last, with calls upon martyred saints, and cries of “Fanny-anny, Fanny-anny,” there mingled a scuffling and trotting which soon died away in the distance, leaving stillness.

Soon after, having finished my meal, and paid my bill, I went out to Joseph.  I found him alone with Finois.  The donkeys and their fair guardian had gone.