“I have made up my mind to go on, but if you will keep me company at supper I will stay.”

“That would cost you too dearly.”

“Never too dear.  Quick I make up your minds.”

“Well, we will sup with you.”

“Then lay the table for three; I must go on in an hour.”

“In an hour!  You mean three, sir; papa will take two hours to get you a good supper.”

“Then I will not go on, but you must keep me company all night.”

“We will do so, if papa does not object.  We will have your chaise put into the coach-house.”

These two minxes gave me an excellent supper, and were a match for me in drinking as well as eating.  The wine was delicious, and we stayed at table till midnight, laughing and joking together, though without overstepping the bounds of propriety.

About midnight, the father came in jovially, and asked me how I had enjoyed my supper.

“Very much,” I answered, “but I have enjoyed still more the company of your charming daughters.”

“I am delighted to hear it.  Whenever you come this way they shall keep you company, but now it is past midnight, and time for them to go to bed.”

I nodded my head, for Charlotte’s death was still too fresh in my memory to admit of my indulging in any voluptuous pleasures.  I wished the girls a pleasant sleep, and I do not think I should even have kissed them if the father had not urged me to do this honour to their charms.  However, my vanity made me put some fire into the embrace, and I have no doubt they thought me a prey to vain desires.

When I was alone I reflected that if I did not forget Charlotte I was a lost man.  I slept till nine o’clock, and I told the servant that came to light my fire to get coffee for three, and to have my horses put in.

The two pretty girls came to breakfast with me, and I thanked them for having made me stay the night.  I asked for the bill, and the eldest said it was in round figures a Louis apiece.  I shewed no sign of anger at this outrageous fleecing, but gave them three Louis with the best grace imaginable and went on my way.  When I reached Angouleme, where I expected to find Noel, the King of Prussia’s cook, I only found his father, whose talents in the matter of pates was something prodigious.  His eloquence was as fervent as his ovens.  He said he would send his pates all over Europe to any address I liked to give him.

“What!  To Venice, London, Warsaw, St. Petersburg?”

“To Constantinople, if you like.  You need only give me your address, and you need not pay me till you get the pates.”

I sent his pates to my friends in Venice, Warsaw, and Turin, and everybody thanked me for the delicious dish.

Noel had made quite a fortune.  He assured me he had sent large consignments to America, and with the exception of some losses by shipwreck all the pates had arrived in excellent condition.  They were chiefly made of turkeys, partridges, and hare, seasoned with truffles, but he also made pates de foie gras of larks and of thrushes, according to the season.