“I agree,” said Le Brux.

Leighton nodded to the attendant.  Soup was served.

“Creme d’asperges a la reine,” murmured Le Brux.  “Friend, is it not a source of regret that with the exception of the swallows’-nest extravaganza and your American essence of turtle, no soup has yet been invented the price of which is not within the reach of the common herd?  I predict that even this dream of a master will become a commonplace within a generation.”

“I am sorry,” said Leighton, “that the boy can’t understand you.  Your remark caps an argument I had with him the other day on the evanescent spirit in art.”

The fish arrived.

“The only fish,” remarked Leighton, “that can properly be served without a sauce.”

“And why?” said Le Brux, helping himself to the young trout fried in olive oil and simply garnished with lemon.  “I will tell thee.  Because God himself hath half prepared the dish, giving to this dainty creature a fragrance which assails the senses of man and adds to eating a vision of purling brooks and overhanging boughs.”  Suddenly, with his fork half-way to his mouth, he paused, and glared at Lewis, who was on the point of helping himself. “Sacrilege!”

Leighton looked up.

“My old one, you are perhaps right.”  He turned to Lewis.  “Better skip the fish.”  At the next dish he remarked, “Following the theory that a dinner should progress as a child learning to walk, Maitre, I have at this point dared to introduce an entremets—­cepes francs a la tete noire——­”

“A la bordelaise,” completed Le Brux, his nose above the dish.  He helped Leighton to half of its contents and himself to the rest.

“Have patience, my old one,” cried Leighton, “the boy may have an uneducated palate, but he is none the less possessed of a sublobular void that demands filling at stated intervals.”

“Bah!” cried Le Brux, “order him a dish of tripe with onions—­and vin ordinaire.  But he’ll have to sit at another table.”

“No,” said Leighton, “that won’t do.  We’ll let him sit here and watch us and when they come, we’ll give him all the sweets and we’ll watch him.”

“Agreed,” said Le Brux.

CHAPTER XX

If events had been moving rapidly with Lewis, they had by no means been at a standstill at Nadir since that troubled day on which he had rebelled, quarreled, and fled, leaving behind him wrath and tears and awakened hearts where all had been apathy and somnolence.

Many happenings at Nadir were dated from the day that Lewis went away.  Late that night mammy and Mrs. Leighton, aided by trembling Natalie, had had to carry the Reverend Orme from his chair in the school-room to his bed.  The left side of his face was drawn grotesquely out of line, but despite the disfigurement, there was a look of peace in his ravaged countenance, as of one who welcomes night joyfully and calmly after a long battle.