Reading and ing come to me easy. I learn my letters as folloarde); B for boeuf, baron of, roasted mostly, riotically sputtering a in ts, carrottes, c and so on, rigo Zabaglione, alten  be, since it figures in no cooks alp.

    And I stick as close to t kitce to a paté or to an oeuf. First, I stand on t stool to my saucepans; turned bucket; t. time passes.

    Life in te mansion floranquil stream, only convulsing into turbulence once a year and t t fuss enoug, o set us by the ears.

    Alt to be tences of eaceric of our beings,  of to life like Sleeping Beauty rut on so  t terruption of our routine. e s out tniglefolk forced by reduced circumstances to take paying guests into te cuisine, forget it; sandwic is sandwiches.

    And never again, ever again, a special request for a soufflé, lobster or otouc, moody, distracted, and, even ter soufflé all ter, boil it alive, beat tc. etc. etc., as if tual t  of t t question mark from  ime. Or, per sruct t, most savoury soufflé t ever lobster graced; but nobody arrived to eat it and none of tc. So, fifteen times in all, t t soufflé.

    Until, one fine October day, t rising over team off a consommé, taking last y meals like condemned men, my mot last rey arrives and as it does algic he lys de France.

    o  dory slab  my maker,  t broods about her.

    But rots into tco pick up t of ice ttles   a beardless boy of ries to quizz s of some otical valet rol of t understand ime in all .

    First, s for s, s for joy, to see he dough. And now she weeps for absence.

    But still ser, for s and ual, if only as a aking matters into my oer, above stairs to make a personal inquiry of to  be.

    t quilted smoking jacket mucs t on very o ive language. And I never sater man; one or t felt t;oquot; in quot;rotundquot;. If aken aback by tion of t of too muc to s by a jump or start, asks,  poi de fran?aise, I stammer out:

    quot;t de c of your last visit --quot;

    quot;A; ;Le pauvre,quot; he adds.

    s lugubriously down his museau.

    quot;Une crise de foie.  mort.quot;

    I blanc gentleman, offers me a restorative snifter of  as it  trust Sirs incinerated tastes, and I can feel it put  as it goes eructating dotle, in ic affability ocrats, I give  of ake to be tances of my conception,  valet er soufflé.

    quot;I  soufflé,quot; says t;Best I ever eat. Sent my compliments to truly exigeant gourmet to go easy on t time.quot;

    So t rut! teful he message!

    I te toucory,  after, my mots up a lobster soufflé in (I believe) remembrance of Jean-Jacques, and le of bubbly in memory of ted until ting all tion of a tender sensibility, says tear:

    quot;tell you e to my ex-valet, slip do;

    quot;O; I stammer. quot;You are too good!quot;

    Forto tco find my mot beginning tly, as tter melts like t of ted ceals open and in tippytoes ter matc say. tctalion all turn t of respect for tic moment, but I myself, tect of it, cannot forbear to peep.

    o o signify caution and silence, and extends e delicacy and tact, s ure at  miging on . An expression as of a baby in a sie sraverses  Bourbonesque features. tempting to peer over o see terie de cuisine but  gets in the way.

    Per is to s , or else a genuine tribute to  noic grace, he gooses her.

    My motc a sigo bloen egg-, great artist t srembles, not once, as sray  a mite of agitation stirs the spoon.

    For it is, you understand, time for seasoning. And in goes just sufficient cayenne, time. Not a grain more. e a kiss.

    tes topple into ts of  as t in a trap. Surns all into the soufflé dish.

    weaks.

    And t;to !quot; Departing from t, my mot, smack! doo to th a low moan.

    quot;take t,quot; sly ss the oven.

    quot;; I cry.

    quot;ould you  it touc time?quot;

    t temples  long last o.

    quot;Quelle femme,quot; he murmurs.

    My motopch in hand, pays him no heed.

    quot;S; I explain, overcome .

    quot; dedication!quot;

    truck. ares at my mot enoug ly as a man c .

    quot;I beg you, I implore you --quot;

    But my mothe oven.

    quot;; table queen of all t spreads its arcire kitc leaps upy alone confines it. All present (some forty-seven in number -- tcion of me, plus the duc) applaud and cheer.

    to tc ss ion t noacion and gateau Saint- infrequent babas au r -- I am tcer into my inance; besides,  t (Yorkshe land?

    For am I not tepson?