Foye, and to see how vigorously knives were handled, and
how chins wagged in the delightful task of levelling down mountains
of meat, while Gascon wine and Norman cider flowed from ever-
replenished flagons.
The Bourgeois and his son, with many of his chief guests, honored
for a time the merry feast out-of-doors, and were almost inundated
by the flowing cups drunk to the health and happiness of the
Bourgeois and of Pierre Philibert.
Maitre Guillot Gobet returned to his kitchen, where he stirred up
his cooks and scullions on all sides, to make up for the loss of his
Easter pies on the grand tables in the hall. He capered among them
like a marionette, directing here, scolding there, laughing, joking,
or with uplifted hands and stamping feet despairing of his
underlings' cooking a dinner fit for the fete of Pierre Philibert.
Maitre Guilot was a little, fat, red-nosed fellow, with twinkling
black eyes, and a mouth irascible as that of a cake-baker of Lerna.
His heart was of the right paste, however, and full as a butter-boat
of the sweet sauce of good nature, which he was ready to pour over
the heads of all his fellows who quietly submitted to his dictation.
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