"So will you after a trial of Alphonse's salad."
"Am I to understand that I am being invited to a theological discussion of
a heavenly salad concocted by Father Alphonse?"
"That is about the specifications."
"Then I accept. For a week my conscience has condemned me for excess of
frivolity. You offer me a chance to expiate without discomfort. That is my
idea of heaven. I have always believed it a place where one pastures in
rich meadows of pleasure, with penalties and consciences all excluded from
its domains."
"You should start a church," he laughed. "It would have a great
following--especially if you could operate your heaven this side of the
Styx."
She found his restaurant all he had claimed, and more. The little corner of
old Paris set her eyes shining. The fittings were Parisian to the least
detail. Even the waiter spoke no English.
"But I don't see how they make it pay. How did he happen to come here? Are
there enough people that appreciate this kind of thing in Mesa to support
it?"
He smiled at her enthusiasm. "Hardly. The place has a scarce dozen of
regular patrons.
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