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“‘I know precisely what it is that is wanted,’ said he, ‘and Mr. Baxter has made the arrangements with me. It is that madame shall not suppose anything, but that what she wishes to be done shall be done.’

“‘That is the idea,’ said I. ‘Don’t interfere with her, but have everything done all right.’

“‘And I am to be man of all work. I like that. You shall see that I am charmed. Now I will go and change my clothes.’ And this well-dressed man turned away toward Baldwin’s tent.

“When Anita came down the servant I had engaged was at the kitchen door waiting for orders. He was a plainly dressed man, his whole appearance neat but humble. ‘He looks like a foreigner,’ said Anita.

“‘You are right,’ I replied; ‘he is an Alsatian.’

“‘And his name?’

“I was about to tell her Isadore, but I stopped myself. It was barely possible that she might have heard the name of the man who for two years had composed the peculiar and delicious ices of which she was so fond; she might even have seen him, and the name might call up some recollection. ‘Did you say your name was Isaac?’ I called out to the man.

“‘Yes, sir,’ he answered; ‘it is that. I am Isaac.’

“‘I am going to get breakfast,’ said Anita. ‘Do you suppose he can build a fire?’

“‘Oh, yes,’ I replied; ‘that is what he is engaged for–to be the man of all work.’

“Prompted by curiosity, I shortly afterwards looked in at the kitchen door. ‘While you prepare the table, madame,’ the man of all work was saying, ‘shall I arrange the coffee for the hot water?’

“‘Do you know how to do it?’ she asked.

“‘Oh, yes, madame,’ the good Isaac replied. ‘In a little hut in Alsace, where I was born, I was obliged to learn to do all things. My father and my mother had no daughter, and I had to be their daughter as well as their son. I learn to cook the simple food. I milk the cow, I rub the horse, I dig in the garden, I pick the berries in the woods.’ As he talked Isaac was not idle; he was busy with the coffee.

“‘That is very interesting,’ said Anita to me; ‘where there are no daughters among the poor the sons must learn a great deal.’

“I remained at the kitchen door to see what would happen next. There was a piece of dough upon a floury board, and when Anita went to lay the table the Alsatian fairly flew upon the dough. It was astonishing to see with what rapidity he manipulated it. When Anita came back she took the dough and divided it into four portions. ‘There will be two rolls apiece for us,’ she said. ‘And now, Isaac, will you put them into the stove? The back part is where we bake things. We are going to have some lamb chops and an omelet,’ she said to me as she approached the hamper.

“‘Ah, madame,’ cried the Alsatian, ‘allow me to lift the chops. The raw meat will make your fingers smell.’

“‘That is true,’ said Anita; ‘you may take them out.’ And then she went back to the dining-room.

“Isaac knelt by the hamper. Then he lifted his eyes to the skies and involuntarily exclaimed: ‘Oh, tonnerre! They were not put by the ice.’ And he gave a melancholy sniff. ‘But they will be all right,’ he said, turning to me. ‘Have trust.’ The man of all work handled the chops, and offered to beat the omelet; but Anita would not let him do this: she made it herself, a book open beside her as she did so. Then she told Isaac to put it on the stove, and asked if I were ready for breakfast. As she turned to leave the room I saw her assistant whip her omelet off the stove and slip on it another one. When or where he had made it I had no idea; it must have been while she was looking for the sugar.