He had noticed that a few rays, not of daylight, but from a lamp, penetrated through the ill-joined planks of the door; he approached just as the brigand was refreshing himself with a mouthful of brandy, which, owing to the leathern bottle containing it, sent forth an odor which was extremely unpleasant to Danglars.
"Faugh!" he exclaimed, retreating to the farther corner of his cell.
At twelve this man was replaced by another functionary, and Danglars, wishing to catch sight of his new guardian, approached the door again.
He was an athletic, gigantic bandit, with large eyes, thick lips, and a flat nose; his red hair fell in dishevelled masses like snakes around his shoulders.
"Ah, ha," cried Danglars, "this fellow is more like an ogre than anything else; however, I am rather too old and tough to be very good eating!"
We see that Danglars was collected enough to jest; at the same time, as though to disprove the ogreish propensities, the man took some black bread, cheese, and onions from his wallet, which he began devouring voraciously.
"May I be hanged," said Danglars, glancing at the bandit's dinner through the crevices of the door,--"may I be hanged if I can understand how people can eat such filth!" and he withdrew to seat himself upon his goat-skin, which reminded him of the smell of the brandy.
But the mysteries of nature are incomprehensible, and there are certain invitations contained in even the coarsest food which appeal very irresistibly to a fasting stomach.
Danglars felt his own not to be very well supplied just then, and gradually the man appeared less ugly, the bread less black, and the cheese more fresh, while those dreadful vulgar onions recalled to his mind certain sauces and side-dishes, which his cook prepared in a very superior manner whenever he said,
"Monsieur Deniseau, let me have a nice little fricassee to-day."
He got up and knocked on the door; the bandit raised his head.
Danglars knew that he was heard, so he redoubled his blows.
"Che cosa?" asked the bandit.
"Come, come," said Danglars, tapping his fingers against the door, "I think it is quite time to think of giving me something to eat!"
But whether he did not understand him, or whether he had received no orders respecting the nourishment of Danglars, the giant, without answering, went on with his dinner.
Danglars' feelings were hurt, and not wishing to put himself under obligations to the brute, the banker threw himself down again on his goat-skin and did not breathe another word.
Four hours passed by and the giant was replaced by another bandit.
Danglars, who really began to experience sundry gnawings at the stomach, arose softly, again applied his eye to the crack of the door, and recognized the intelligent countenance of his guide.
It was, indeed, Peppino who was preparing to mount guard as comfortably as possible by seating himself opposite to the door, and placing between his legs an earthen pan, containing chick-pease stewed with bacon.
Near the pan he also placed a pretty little basket of Villetri grapes and a flask of Orvieto.
Peppino was decidedly an epicure.
Danglars watched these preparations and his mouth watered.
"Come," he said to himself, "let me try if he will be more tractable than the other;" and he tapped gently at the door.
"On y va," (coming) exclaimed Peppino, who from frequenting the house of Signor Pastrini understood French perfectly in all its idioms.
Danglars immediately recognized him as the man who had called out in such a furious manner,
"Put in your head!"
But this was not the time for recrimination, so he assumed his most agreeable manner and said with a gracious smile,--"Excuse me, sir, but are they not going to give me any dinner?"
"Does your excellency happen to be hungry?"
"Happen to be hungry,--that's pretty good, when I haven't eaten for twenty-four hours!" muttered Danglars.
Then he added aloud, "Yes, sir, I am hungry--very hungry."
"What would your excellency like?" and Peppino placed his pan on the ground, so that the steam rose directly under the nostrils of Danglars.
"Give your orders."
"Have you kitchens here?"
"Kitchens?--of course--complete ones."
"And cooks?"
"Excellent!"
"Well, a fowl, fish, game,--it signifies little, so that I eat."
"As your excellency pleases. You mentioned a fowl, I think?"
"Yes, a fowl."
Peppino, turning around, shouted,
"A fowl for his excellency!"
His voice yet echoed in the archway when a handsome, graceful, and half-naked young man appeared, bearing a fowl in a silver dish on his head, without the assistance of his hands.
"I could almost believe myself at the Cafe de Paris," murmured Danglars.
"Here, your excellency," said Peppino, taking the fowl from the young bandit and placing it on the worm-eaten table, which with the stool and the goat-skin bed formed the entire furniture of the cell.
Danglars asked for a knife and fork.
"Here, excellency," said Peppino, offering him a little blunt knife and a boxwood fork.
Danglars took the knife in one hand and the fork in the other, and was about to cut up the fowl.
"Pardon me, excellency," said Peppino, placing his hand on the banker's shoulder; "people pay here before they eat. They might not be satisfied, and"--
"Ah, ha," thought Danglars, "this is not so much like Paris, except that I shall probably be skinned! Never mind, I'll fix that all right.
I have always heard how cheap poultry is in Italy; I should think a fowl is worth about twelve sous at Rome.--There," he said, throwing a louis down.