"_Maître_, it has been my endeavor to provide to-night a single essence from each of the five great epochs of modern cookery."
"Yes, my child?" said Le Brux, gravely, but with an expectant gleam in his eye.
"In no branch of science," continued Leighton, "have progress and innovation been so constantly associated as in gastronomy, and we shall consequently abandon the rule of the savants of the last generation and proceed from the light to the less light and then to the rich."
Leighton nodded to the attendant. Soup was served.
"_Crême d'asperges à 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 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. "_Sacrilège_!"
"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, _Maître_, I have at this point dared to introduce an entremets--_cèpes francs à la tête noire_----"
"_À 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."