"But do you suppose there will be anyone in this new government who will appreciate the finer things?" There was the wistfulness of the connoisseur in the cellarer's voice. "These proletarians, will they have a taste for anything beyond beer?"
"We shall educate them," said Romsteck. "The tradition of our vanished aristocracy rests with us."
The door opened, admitting Pigalle, the chef, the only member of the staff who considered himself privileged to enter the major domo's sitting room without knocking. His tall white cap was furiously awry, his face engraved with irony.
"I see the flag of the republic has been raised," he said grimly. "Our chief magistrate arrives to-day. Pigs' trotters and sour kraut, I conceive, will be delicacies adequate to this evening's repast."
"Pigalle," said Romsteck, "my heart bleeds for you. I know the suffering of the great creator confronted by patrons unworthy of his art.
