As I did so, my treacherous wrist, strained by the weight of the saucepan, gave way, and with the rapidity of a conjurer's trick I found the great black saucepan seated,--yes, that is the only word for it,--seated in the midst of my heap of rice, which was now covered by fine black powder from its sooty outside.

All the rice was utterly and completely spoiled.

I don't believe that five clean grains were left in the dish There was nothing for it but to leave it to get cold and then throw it all out for the fowls, who don't mind _riz au noir_ it seems.

Although I feel more than half ashamed to confess it, I am by no means sure I did not retire into the store-room and shed a tear over the fate of that rice.

Everybody else laughed, but I was dreadfully mortified and vexed..