"I think," said Francois, "that Max means merely to give us a supper."
"No; matters are very serious for him, and for the Rabouilleuse: no
doubt, he has concocted some scheme against the Parisians."
"It would be a good joke to drive them away."
"My grandfather," said Baruch, "is terribly alarmed at having two
extra mouths to feed, and he'd seize on any pretext--"
"Well, comrades!" cried Max softly, now appearing on the scene, "why
are you star-gazing? the planets don't distil kirschwasser. Come, let
us go to Mere Cognette's!"
"To Mere Cognette's! To Mere Cognette's!" they all cried.
The cry, uttered as with one voice, produced a clamor which rang
through the town like the hurrah of troops rushing to an assault;
total silence followed. The next day, more than one inhabitant must
have said to his neighbor: "Did you hear those frightful cries last
night, about one o'clock? I thought there was surely a fire
somewhere."
A supper worthy of La Cognette brightened the faces of the twenty-two
guests; for the whole Order was present. At two in the morning, as
they were beginning to "siroter" (a word in the vocabulary of the
Knights which admirably expresses the act of sipping and tasting the
wine in small quantities), Max rose to speak:--
"My dear fellows! the honor of your grand master was grossly attacked
this morning, after our memorable joke with Fario's cart,--attacked by
a vile pedler, and what is more, a Spaniard (oh, Cabrera!); and I have
resolved to make the scoundrel feel the weight of my vengeance;
always, of course, within the limits we have laid down for our fun.
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