SATAN lay in his bed with the flaming curtains. The physicians and apothecaries of Hell, finding their patient had a white tongue, inferred he was suffering from a weakness of the stomach and prescribed a diet at once light and nourishing. Satan swore he had no appetite for aught but a certain earthly dish, which women excel in making when they meet in company, to wit, tongue-pie.
The doctors agreed there was nothing could better suit His Majesty’s stomach.
In an hour’s time the dish was set before the King; but he found it insipid and tasteless.
He sent for his Head Cook and asked him where the pie came from.
“From Paris, sire. It is quite fresh; ‘twas baked this very morning, in the Marais Quarter, by a dozen gossips g............