CHAPTER XX.
THE BREAKFAST.
Gorenflot was not long in giving his orders.

The cook was summoned.
"Brother Eusebius," said Gorenflot, in a severe voice, "listen to what my friend M.Briquet is about to tell you.

It seems that you are negligent, and I hear of grave faults in your last soup, and a fatal mistake in the cooking of your ears.

Take care, brother, take care; a single step in a wrong direction may be irremediable." The monk grew red and pale by turns, and stammered out an excuse.
"Enough," said Gorenflot, "what can we have for breakfast to-day ?" "Eggs fried with cock's combs." "After ?" "Mushrooms." "Well ?" "Crabs cooked with Madeira." "Those are all trifles; tell us of something solid." "A ham boiled with pistachios." Chicot looked contemptuous.
"Pardon!" cried Eusebius, "it is cooked in sherry wine." Gorenflot hazarded an approving glance toward Chicot.
"Good! is it not, M.Briquet ?" said he.
Chicot made a gesture of half-satisfaction.
"And what have you besides ?" "You can have some eels." "Oh! we will dispense with the eels," said Chicot.
"I think, M.Briquet," replied the cook, "that you would regret it if you had not tasted my eels." "What! are they rarities ?" "I nourish them in a particular manner." "Oh, oh!" "Yes," added Gorenflot; "it appears that the Romans or the Greeks--I forget which--nourished their lampreys as Eusebius does his eels.

He read of it in an old author called Suetonius." "Yes, monsieur, I mince the intestines and livers of fowls and game with a little pork, and make a kind of sausage meat, which I throw to my eels, and they are kept in soft water, often renewed, in which they become large and fat.