The fricandeau is like a dream
of early love; the fricassee, with which I have so often flirted, is
like the tattle of the last quadrille; and no longer are my dreams
haunted with the dark passion of the rich ragout. Ye soups! o'er whose
creation I have watched, like mothers o'er their sleeping child! Ye
sauces! to which I have even lent a name, where are ye now? Tickling,
perchance, the palate of some easy friend, who quite forgets the boon
companion whose presence once lent lustre even to his ruby wine and
added perfume to his perfumed hock!
Our Duke, however, had not reached the age of retrospection. He pecked
as prettily as any bird. Seated on the right hand of his delightful
hostess, nobody could be better pleased; supervised by his jaeger, who
stood behind his chair, no one could be better attended. He smiled,
with the calm, amiable complacency of a man who feels the world is quite
right.
CHAPTER IX.
_The Chatelaine of Castle Dacre_
HOW is your Grace's horse, Sans-pareil?' asked Sir Chetwode Chetwode
of Chetwode of the Duke of St. James, shooting at the same time a sly
glance at his opposite neighbour, Sir Tichborne Tichborne of Tichborne.
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