Gregoire.

Though this sketch gives some idea of the man's character, no one can
imagine the point to which, in his private and unthwarted life, the
ex-Benedictine had pushed the science of selfishness, good living, and
sensuality. In the first place, he dined alone, waited upon by his
wife and Annette, who themselves dined with Jean in the kitchen, while
the master digested his meal and disposed of his wine as he read "the
news."

In the country the special names of journals are never mentioned; they
are all called by the general name of "the news."

Rigou's dinner, like his breakfast and supper, was always of choice
delicacies, cooked with the art which distinguishes a priest's
housekeeper from all other cooks. Madame Rigou made the butter herself
twice a week. Cream was a concomitant of many sauces. The vegetables
came at a jump, as it were, from their frames to the saucepan.
Parisians, who are accustomed to eat the fruits of the earth after
they have had a second ripening in the sun of a city, infected by the
air of the streets, fermenting in close shops, and watered from time
to time by the market-women to give them a deceitful freshness, have
little idea of the exquisite flavors of really fresh produce, to which
nature has lent fugitive but powerful charms when eaten as it were
alive.

The butcher of Soulanges brought his best meat under fear of losing
Rigou's custom. The poultry, raised on the premises, was of the finest
quality.