With what pleasure I could have presented myself to our
amiable neighbours, the Sergeant-Major Coghlan and his estimable wife, and
said, 'It is the custom in France for all the world to eat _crepes_ on
Mardi Gras. Accept these, then, made by Madame Bonneton herself, who in the
making of this national delicacy is an incomparable artist.' But when eggs
are twelve francs the dozen"--he shook his head gloomily--"generous
sentiments must perish."
Madame perceptibly softened.
"Perhaps, after all, I might persuade that miser Dobelle to sell me a few
at ten francs the dozen," she murmured; and M'sieur knew that diplomacy had
won another notable victory.
Curiously enough, at this precise moment the tenants of the _premier etage_
of 10 _bis_, rue de la Republique, were also engaged in a gastronomic
discussion.
"If almanacs in France count as they do in Aldershot," said Mrs. Coghlan,
"to-morrow will be Shrove Tuesday."
"An' what av it?" demanded Sergeant-Major Coghlan of the British Army.
"What of it? As though ye'd not been dreaming of pancakes this fortnight
an' more past--fearful to mention thim an' fearful lest I should forget.
Well, well, if ye'll bring a good flour ration in the marning I'll do me
best."
"I've been thinking, Peggy lass," said the gratified Sergeant-Major, "it
wud be the polite thing to make a few for thim dacent people on the
ground-flure.
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