At this point a waiter put a small wafer about as large as a penny upon the table.

“H’m—­what’s that, Memnon?” I asked.

“Essence of melon,” said he.

“Good, is it?” I queried.

“You might taste it and see, sir,” he said, with a smile.  “It is one of a lot especially prepared for Jupiter.”

I put the thing in my mouth, and oh, the sensation that followed!  I have eaten melons, and I have dreamed melons, but never in either experience was there to be found such an ecstasy of taste as I now got.

“Another, Memnon—­another!” I cried.

“If you wish, sir,” said he.  “But very imprudent, sir.  That wafer was constructed from six hundred of the choicest—­”

“Quite right,” said I, realizing the situation; “quite right.  Six hundred melons are enough for any man.  What do you propose to give me now?”

“Oeufs Midas,” said Memnon.

“Sounds rather rich,” I observed.

“It would cost you 4,650,000 francs for a half portion at a Paris cafe, if you could get it there—­which you can’t.”

“And what, Memnon,” said I, “is the peculiarity of eggs Midas?”

“It’s nothing but an omelet, sir,” he replied; “but it is made of eggs laid by the goose of whom you have probably read in the Personal Recollections of Jack the Giant-Killer.  They are solid gold.”

“Heavens!” I cried.  “Solid gold!  Great Scott, Memnon, I can’t digest a solid gold omelet.  What do you think I am—­an assay office?”

Memnon grinned until every tooth in his head showed, making his mouth look like the keyboard of a grand piano.

“It is perfectly harmless the way it is prepared in the kitchen, sir,” he explained.  “It isn’t an eighteen-karat omelet, as you seem to think.  The eggs are solid, but the omelet is not.  It is, indeed, only six karats fine.  The alloy consists largely of lactopeptine, hydrochloric acid, and various other efficient digestives which render it innocuous to the most delicate digestion.”

“Very well, Memnon,” I replied, making a wry face, “bring it on.  I’ll try a little of it, anyhow.”  I must confess it did not sound inviting, but a guest should never criticise the food that is placed before him.  My politeness was well repaid, for nothing more delicate in the way of an omelet has ever titillated my palate.  There was a slight metallic taste about it at first, but I soon got over that, just as I have got used to English oysters, which, when I eat them, make me feel for a moment as if I had bitten off the end of a brass door-knob; and had I not calculated the cost, I should have asked for a second helping.

Memnon then brought me a platter containing a small object that looked like a Hamburg steak, and a most delicious cup of cafe au lait.

“Filet Olympus,” he observed, “and coffee direct from the dairy of the gods.”

Both were a joy.