But woe to man or maid servant who delayed or disputed his royal
orders! An Indian typhoon instantly blew. At such a time even Dame
Rochelle would gather her petticoats round her and hurry out of the
storm, which always subsided quickly in proportion to the violence
of its rage.
Maitre Guillot knew what he was about, however. He did not use, he
said, to wipe his nose with a herring! and on that day he was going
to cook a dinner fit for the Pope after Lent, or even for the
Reverend Father De Berey himself, who was the truest gourmet and the
best trencherman in New France.
Maitre Guillot honored his master, but in his secret soul he did not
think his taste quite worthy of his cook! But he worshipped Father
De Berey, and gloried in the infallible judgment and correct taste
of cookery possessed by the jolly Recollet. The single approbation
of Father De Berey was worth more than the praise of a world full of
ordinary eating mortals, who smacked their lips and said things were
good, but who knew no more than one of the Cent Suisses why things
were good, or could appreciate the talents of an artiste of the
cordon bleu.
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