One is yours, and the other the dinner of our friend Monsieur Bartot." He pointed to a table a little distance away, where Monsieur Bartot was already dining.

His back was towards us--broad and ugly, with its rolls of fat flesh around the neck, almost concealing the low collar.
"Some day," I remarked, "our friend Monsieur Bartot will suffer from apoplexy." "It would not be surprising," Louis answered.

"He is looking very flushed to-night.

The chef has prepared for him a wonderful dinner.

They say that he is never satisfied.