They might have replied that he had ordered all these things himself yesterday; but nobody took the trouble to contradict him any longer, so gradually the storm died away of its own accord and the old man, turning towards Maksi, tenderly invited him to partake of the disparaged dishes.
"Come and eat with me, Maksi, my darling." "That I will," cried the little horror, grabbing at everything simultaneously with both hands.
"Oh, fie, fie!" said grandpapa gently.

"Take Maksi out for a ride and let the lacquey go with him instead of his tutor!" The old gentleman then pushed the little round table aside and signalled to the footman that he was to put all the dishes carefully away, as he should want to see them again on the morrow.

The footman conscientiously obeyed this command--which was given regularly every day--and locked up all the dishes well aware that he would get a sound jacketting if he failed to produce a single one of them when required to do so.
The old man knew well enough that there was not a servant in the house who, for any reward on earth, would think of touching any food that had ever lain on his table; indeed, they held it in such horror that they used regularly to distribute it among the poor.

In order therefore that the very beggars might have nothing to thank him for, he had the food kept till it was almost rotten before he let them have it.

As for his own family, he had not dined at the same table with them for ten years.
It was certainly not a sociable family.