The bouilli held the place of honor in the middle of the table, accompanied with three other dishes: hard-boiled eggs on sorrel opposite to the vegetables; then a salad dressed with nut-oil to face little cups of custard, whose flavoring of burnt oats did service as vanilla, which it resembles much as coffee made of chiccory resembles mocha.

Butter and radishes, in two plates, were at each end of the table; pickled gherkins and horse-radish completed the spread, which won Madam Hochon's approbation.

The good old woman gave a contented little nod when she saw that her husband had done things properly, for the first day at least.
The old man answered with a glance and a shrug of his shoulders, which it was easy to translate into-- "See the extravagances you force me to commit!" As soon as Monsieur Hochon had, as it were, slivered the bouilli into slices, about as thick as the sole of a dancing-shoe, that dish was replaced by another, containing three pigeons.

The wine was of the country, vintage 1811.

On a hint from her grandmother, Adolphine had decorated each end of the table with a bunch of flowers.
"At Rome as the Romans do," thought the artist, looking at the table, and beginning to eat,--like a man who had breakfasted at Vierzon, at six o'clock in the morning, on an execrable cup of coffee.