That little
man had flaxen hair and a snub nose. Sperver had made him his factotum;
it was he who took to pieces and cleaned his guns, mended the
riding-horses' harness, fed the dogs in his absence, and superintended in
the kitchen the preparation of his favourite dishes. On grand occasions
he was outrider. He now stood with a napkin over his arm, and was gravely
uncorking the long-necked bottle of Rhenish.
"Kasper," said his master, as soon as he had surveyed this satisfactory
state of things--"Kasper, I was very well pleased with you yesterday;
everything was excellent; the roast kid, the chicken, and the fish. I
like fair-play, and when a man has done his duty I like to tell him so.
To-day I am quite as well satisfied. The boar's head looks excellent with
its white-wine sauce; so does the crayfish soup. Isn't it your opinion
too, Fritz?"
I assented.
"Well," said Sperver, "since it is so, you shall have the honour of
filling our glasses. I mean to raise you step by step, for you are a very
deserving fellow."
Kasper looked down bashfully and blushed; he seemed to enjoy his master's
praises.
We took our places, and I was wondering at this quondam poacher, who in
years gone by was content to cook his own potatoes in his cottage, now
assuming all the airs of a great seigneur.
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