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"Sir Hugh?"
It took Jaq a second to respond to the new name. "Huh?"
"Is everything all right?" asked the Duchess Le Grande, with overbearing solicitude. "You've hardly touched your dinner."
"Oh—I'm fine. Just—uh—not hungry."
Actually, when they'd first sat down, Jaq had been hungry. This was the first real meal he'd had since becoming human, and the brand new six-two body could use the energy. And even though it was disappointing to be seated between the Duchess Le Grande and the Grand Duke, two places down from Cinderella, he had to admit that the soup had been tastier than anything the mice and birds had ever been able to cobble together at the Tremaine estate.
But then the main course—something to do with its being Friday, apparently—was fish. Jaq knew he ought to appreciate it; if you took Le Grande's word for it, salmon was the very prince of fish. Perhaps that accounted for why the taste reminded Jaq so strongly of Pom-Pom's breath. He had tried to talk himself into it—eat what cat eats! prove stronger than cat, not afraid—but then, contemplating the notion of what a cat eats is never the best way to bolster the appetite of a nervous mouse.
"If it isn't to your taste," put in the Duke, peering curiously at him through his monocle, "we can have the kitchens send up something else—"
"No!" said Jaq at once. Some of the worst days had been when Anastasia or Drizella had sent a dinner back, out of pickiness or sheer peevishness, and made Cinderella go through the whole laborious process again. "I—I mean," he went on, at the Duke's surprised expression, "I don't want to be any trouble. It's not the cook's fault if I—if I'm not hungry."
He must have spoken too loudly, because now Cinderella was looking at him from the head of the table. He swallowed and looked quickly away. Jaq did mean to tell Cinderelly who he was, just as soon as he could get a word in edgewise with her—but, well, in the meantime he hated for the Princess to think Sir Hugh a silly fool.
"But if something's wrong with it—" Le Grande pursued, while Jaq stared hard at his napkin and weighed the possibility of steeling himself for another bite of—gulp—cat food.
"Now, Duchess, it's not important," said Cinderella gently. "I'm sure none of us want to make our guest uncomfortable."
Jaq looked up at her in grateful surprise. Again he was supposed to be the one helping her, and here she was showing him such kindness. She gave him a quick, reassuring smile back.
"I was only worried," said Le Grande, chastised. "Poor Sir Hugh's been picking at his food like a little mouse!"
Cinderella's smile broadened as addressed the duchess. "But that's a common misconception! Why, did you know that a mouse eats almost one-sixth of its own weight in food every day? In fact," she added, "I've known some mice who can put away a good deal more than that."
"You got that right!" said Jaq, laughing at the oblique mention of their mutual friend. Cinderella's laughing eyes caught his, and for a moment it was as if they were quite alone at the table.
"Are you interested in mice, then, Sir Hugh?" she asked, to break the pause.
"In mice? Yeah, uh—yeah, I guess you could say that."
"Hmph. Nasty little creatures, if you ask me," said Le Grande.
Nobody had asked her, but Cinderella took the unpleasant woman in stride. "But you wouldn't feel that way if you got to know them, Duchess."
"Don't be so sure," said Jaq wryly; and although Cinderella couldn't have understood the humor, she seemed pleased to have him enjoying the conversation again.
And she showed the same deft politeness a few minutes later, when the servants came in to take away the mostly-empty fish plates.
"It's all right, Sir Hugh," she said as Jaq stammered at the boy, fork in hand. "It won't go to waste."
"It's true," said Le Grande. "They'll cook it into a soup, or if nothing else I'm sure dear Pom-Pom would be happy to eat it."
"Oh." Well, maybe she'd be that much less hungry for Gus, then. "Thanks," Jaq said, and relinquished the plate.
"And of course if we do get hungry later," said Cinderella, as to the general company, "there will be a light supper at the committee meeting tonight. It's... now what was it, Duke?"
"I believe the chef promised a cold spread of fruits and cheeses."
Jaq turned his head and blinked at the Duke. Sure, he knew his own command of human speech wasn't princely-perfect, but—"Cheeses?"
"Yes, of course cheeses."
"I expect they say it differently in Belgium," said Cinderella.
"I'll explain," crooned Le Grande, leaning closer to Jaq. "You see, Sir Hugh, around here we say cheese when we talk about a certain amount of cheese, but we use the word cheeses when we're talking about having several different kinds of cheese."
Jaq's eyes went wide. As far as he was concerned, that was the most interesting thing the Duchess had said all day. "There's kinds of cheese?"
So that evening, in between finalizing the logistics of the Spring Festival, Princess Cinderella introduced her new friend to Roquefort and Neufchâtel and Brie and Emmental (that being the royal folks' name for the common mouse favorite). And as for the Duchess Le Grande, it may be that she gained a new understanding of just what it means for somebody to eat like a mouse.