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The Sixth Day: Mademoiselle

The lovers plotted to remove Madame by first drugging her, then breaking her skull with the wood chopper, and then pitching her downstairs so as to produce the impression that she had met her death in this fashion. But either the arm of Mademoiselle Sidonie-who was told off to do the hammering-was unskilled in such work, or the opiate was too weak, for the victim began to shriek before she gave up the ghost. Detection seemed imminent, so Narcisse, in whom the quality of discretion was evidently predominant, bolted at once and got out of the country. But the facts were absolutely clear. The victim lived long enough to depose that Mademoiselle Sidonie attacked her with the wood chopper, while Narcisse watched the door. The advocate of Narcisse did his work like a man. He shed the regulation measure of tears; he drew graphic pictures of the innocent youth of Narcisse, of his rise to eminence, and of his filial piety as evidenced by the frequent despatch of money and comestibles to his venerable mother, who was still living near Bourges. Once a year, too, this incomparable artist found time to renew his youth by a sojourn in the simple cottage which saw his birth, and by embracing the giver of his life.

Was it possible that a man who treated one woman with such devotion and reverence could take the life of another? He adduced various and picturesque reasons to show that such an event must be impossible, but the jury took the opposite view. Some one had to be guillotined, and the intelligent jury decided that Paris could spare Narcisse better than it could spare Mademoiselle Sidonie. I fear the fact that he had deigned to sell his services to a brutal islander may have helped them to come to this conclusion, but there were other and more weighty reasons.

Of the supreme excellence of Narcisse as an artist the jury knew nothing, so they let him go hang-or worse-but of Mademoiselle Sidonie they knew a good deal, and their knowledge, I believe, is shared by certain English visitors to Paris. She is one of the attractions of the Fantasies d'Arcadie, and her latest song, Bonjour Coco, is sung and whistled in every capital of Europe; so the jury, thrusting aside as mere pedantry the evidence of facts, set to work to find some verdict which would not eclipse the gaiety of La Ville Lumière by cutting short the career of Mademoiselle Sidonie. The art of the chef appealed to only a few, and he dies a mute, but by no means inglorious martyr: the art of the chanteuse appeals to the million, the voice of the many carries the day, and Narcisse must die." "It is a revolting story," said Mrs. Gradinger, "and one possible only in a corrupted and corrupting society. It is wonderful, as Sir John remarks, how the conquering streams of tendency manifest themselves even in an affair like this.

Ours is a democratic age, and the wants and desires of the many, who find delight in this woman's singing, override the whims of the pampered few, the employers of such costly luxuries as men cooks." "You see you are a mere worm, Sir John," laughed Miss Macdonnell, "and you had better lay out your length to be trampled on." "Yes, I have long foreseen our fate, we who happen to possess what our poor brother hankers after. Well, perhaps I may take up the worm's rôle at once and 'turn'-that is, burn the recipe of Narcisse." "O Sir John, Sir John," cried Mrs. Sinclair, "any such burning would remind me irresistibly of Mr. Mantalini's attempts at suicide. There would be an accurate copy in your pocket-book, and besides this you would probably have learnt off the recipe by heart." "Yes, we know our Sir John better than that, don't we?" said the Marchesa; "but, joking apart, Sir John, you might let me have the recipe It would go admirably with one of our at once. lunch dishes for to-morrow."

But on the subject of the sauce, Sir John-like the younger Mr. Smallweed on the subject of gravy-was adamant. The wound caused by the loss of Narcisse was, he declared, yet too recent: the very odour of the sauce would provoke a thousand agonising regrets. And then the hideous injustice of it all: Narcisse the artist, comparatively innocent (for to artists a certain latitude must be allowed), to moulder in quicklime, and this greedy, sordid murderess to go on ogling and posturing with superadded popularity before an idiot crowd unable to distinguish a Remoulade from a Ravigotte! "No, my dear Marchesa," he said, "the secret of Narcisse must be kept a little longer, for, to tell the truth, I have an idea. I remember that ere this fortunes have been made out of sauces, and if this sauce be properly handled and put before the public, it may counteract my falling, or rather disappearing rents. If only I could hit upon a fetching name, and find twenty thousand pounds to spend in advertising, I might be able once more to live on my acres." "Oh, surely we shall be able to find you a name between us," said Mrs. Wilding; "money, and things of that sort are to be procured in the city, I believe; and I daresay Mr. Van der Roet will design a pretty label for the sauce bottles."

Menu-LUNCH.

Pollo all' oliva.

Scaloppine di riso.

Fowl with olives.

Veal cutlets with rice.

Sedani alla parmigiana.

Stewed celery.

Menu-DINNER.

Zuppa primaverile.

Spring soup.

Sotè di Salmone ai funghi.

Salmon with mushrooms.

Breast of lamb alla Veneziana.

Tenerumi d'Agnello alla veneziana.

Testa di Vitello alla sorren- Calf's head alla Sorrentina. tina.

Fagiano alla perigò.

Torta alla cremonese.

Uova alla fiorentina, Pheasant with truffles.

Cremona tart.

Egg savoury.