“For Monsieur Lariviere,” explained M’sieur.  “Madame insisted.  She has a heart of gold, that woman.”

“Peggy’s sending these up too,” said the Sergeant-Major.  “I towld her thim pancakes was the greatest surprise you iver tasted.”

M’sieur nodded.  In response to Hippolyte’s invitation they entered the room, and M’sieur took command of the conversation.  The Sergeant-Major stood stiffly to attention, feeling that the occasion demanded it.

“Two little gifts,” said M’sieur, “of epicurean distinction.  The crepes of Madame Bonneton are an achievement, but the pancakes of Madame Coghlan are irresistible.”

“I thank you from the recesses of my heart,” said Hippolyte with emotion; “but—­you understand me—­as the slave of Art I am compelled to forgo such pleasures.”

“My friend,” said M’sieur sternly, to refuse them would be an affront to the cooking of these excellent ladies.  A true housewife esteems her cooking only next to her virtue.  You must eat them—­while they are hot.”

“But my tremolo—­my sostenuto will be ruined,” said Hippolyte wildly.

“What is your tremolo to a woman’s tears?” said M’sieur, with an elegance born of a fear that he might be compelled to eat the pancakes himself.  “The laws of hospitality—­chivalry—­l’entente cordiale itself—­demand that you finish them.”

When Hippolyte finally yielded, his rapid and efficient despatch of the dainties excited the admiration of his hosts.  They had collected their plates and were taking their departure, with expressions of regard, when a knock announced the arrival of a garcon from the Cafe aux Gourmets, bearing a dish of crisp hot crepes.

“One moment, Messieurs,” said Hippolyte dramatically to his departing visitors.  “It must not be said that Hippolyte Lariviere lacks in neighbourly feeling.  Behold my seasonable gift!”

M’sieur groaned.  The Sergeant-Major, being a soldier, concealed his apprehensions.  Wild thoughts of surreptitiously disposing of them in a coal-bin whirled through their minds, but Hippolyte apparently divined their thoughts.

“I regret that I must forgo the pleasure I promised myself of asking the ladies to take crepes with me,” he said.  “To offer these would be a poor compliment to their superlative efforts.  But there is no reason why you should not eat them here.”

“I have an excellent reason,” said M’sieur, stroking his waistcoat.  “And the gallant Sergeant-Major, I imagine, has another.”

“Bah! what is a little digestive inconvenience to a breach of courtesy?” cried Hippolyte maliciously.  “You must eat them. The law of hospitality demands it.”

When M’sieur and the Sergeant-Major stumbled unsteadily downstairs ten minutes later their eyes bulged with the expression of those whose cup of suffering is filled to overflowing.