Four hours passed by, the giant was replaced by another bandit. Danglars, who really began to experience sundry gnawings at the stomach, rose softly, again applied his eye to the crack of the door, and recognized the intelligent countenance of his guide. It was, indeed, Peppino who was preparing to mount guard as comfortably as possible by seating himself opposite to the door, and placing between his legs an earthen pan, containing chick-pease Stewed with bacon. Near the pan he also placed a pretty little basket of grapes and a bottle of Orvieto. Peppino was decidedly an epicure. While witnessing these preparations Danglars’ mouth watered.
“Come,” he said to himself, “let me try if he will be more tractable than the other!” and he tapped gently at the door.
“Coming!” exclaimed Peppino, who, from frequenting the house of Maitre Pastrini, understood French perfectly.
Danglars immediately recognized him as the man who had called out in such a furious manner, “Put in your head!” But this was not the time for recrimination, so he assumed his most agreeable manner and said with a gracious smile:
“Excuse me, sir, but are they not going to give me any dinner?”
“Does your excellency happen to be hungry?”
“Happen to be hungry! that’s excellent, when I have not eaten for twenty-four hours!” muttered Danglars. Then he added aloud, “Yes, sir, I am hungry – very hungry!”
“And your excellency wants something to eat?”
“At once, if possible.”
“Nothing easier,” said Peppino. “Here you can get anything you want; by paying for it, of course, as among honest folk.”
“Of course!” cried Danglars. “Although, in justice, the people who arrest and imprison you, ought, at least, to feed you.”
“That is not the custom, excellency,” said Peppino.
“A bad reason,” replied Danglars, who reckoned on conciliating his keeper; “but I’m content. Let me have some dinner!”
“At once! What does your excellency desire?”
And Peppino placed his pan on the ground, so that the steam rose directly under the nostrils of Danglars, – “Give your orders!”
“Have you kitchens here?”
“Kitchens? – of course! complete ones.”
“And cooks?”
“Excellent!”
“Well! a fowl, fish, game, it signifies little, so that I eat.”
“As your excellency pleases! You mentioned a fowl, I think?”
“Yes, a fowl.”
Peppino, turning round, shouted, “A fowl for his excellency.” His voice yet echoed in the archway when a young man, handsome, graceful, and half-naked, appeared, bearing a fowl in a silver dish on his head, without the assistance of his hands.
“I could almost believe myself at the Cafe de Paris!” murmured Danglars.
“Here, your excellency!” said Peppino, taking the fowl from the young bandit, and placing it on the worm-eaten table, which, with a stool and the goat-skin bed, formed the entire furniture of the cell. Dunglars asked for a knife and fork.
“Here, excellency,” said Peppino, offering him a little blunt knife and a boxwood fork. Danglars took the knife in one hand and the fork in the other, and was about to cut up the fowl.
“Pardon me, excellency,” said Peppino, placing his hand on the banker’s shoulder; “people pay here before they eat. They might not be satisfied, and –”
“Ah! ah!” thought Danglars, “this is no longer like Paris, without reckoning that I shall probably be fleeced! Never mind, I will carry it off well! I have always heard how cheap poultry is in Italy; I should think a fowl is worth about twelve sous at Rome. – There,” he said, throwing a louis down.
Peppino picked up the louis, and Danglars again prepared to carve the fowl.
“Stay a moment, your excellency,” said Peppino, rising; “you still owe me something.”
“I said they would fleece me,” thought Danglars; but resolving to resist the extortion, he said, “Come, how much do I owe you for this hectic fowl?”
“Your excellency has given me a louis on account.”
“A louis on account for a fowl!”
“Certainly; and your excellency now owes me four thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine louis!”