At this, a servant announced that nuncheon was served, and the assembly – having inserted their heads into elegant glass vessels of cold water, in accordance with the national custom – made their way to the dining-room.
"My dear Count," said Réginard when all were seated. "I hope that our baguettes are not displeasing to the palate of one accustomed to the cuisine of the Black Land."
"If you knew me better, monsieur," replied the Count, "you would spare yourself a preoccupation that is almost humiliating for one who feeds one day on bagronc from Morgoule, the next on cheese from Isengard, the next on tipped kow from Rhoûne, and the next on nothing at all – who, in short, has made an art of eating whatever and of sleeping whenever he chooses. I possess indeed an infallible recipe for sleeping when I am bored and cannot be bothered to distract myself; or annoyed, but not inspired to kill; or hungry, but not in the mood to eat."
"Voilà what would be excellent for us Uruc-haïs, who rarely have anything to eat, apart perhaps from the leavings of the shirriferies, if one could stomach them," said Morrie.
