I dared not say that I had already seen the cunning creatures. Their papa continued to call them. Théodore appeared on all fours, carrying Alexandre on his back, the latter having the dog in his arms. The better to imitate a horse, Théodore had put on long paper ears, and the little girl was whipping him behind with a bunch of quills. I laughed at the picture, and Giraud considered it very amusing at first. But in a moment he recognized his black silk cap on the dog’s head, and he did not laugh any more. “What, you rascals! you have taken my silk cap to put on Azor!” “I did it to make a Croquemitaine of him, papa.” “I have forbidden you a hundred times to touch any of my things.--And you, mademoiselle, what are you whipping your brother with?” “Papa, with----” “With a bunch of quills that was on my desk--very expensive quills, rooster’s quills, which I keep to write my circulars with. Who gave you leave to touch anything on my desk? But just come here, Monsieur Théodore. What did you make those ears with?” “With a paper that was on the floor, papa.” “On the floor! God bless me! it is Monsieur Mermillon’s letter, in which he tells me in detail what his daughter’s dowry will be! You little villain! to make horse’s ears with my letters! Some day he will take thousand-franc notes from my desk to make horns with. I will deal with you, young man.” Giraud started to run after his son, but I stopped him; I heard madame calling in an angry voice: “Giraud! Giraud! aren’t you coming to finish dressing me? Françoise doesn’t know how to fasten my dress; that girl is frightfully awkward.” “There, there it is,” said Giraud; “she is going to send her back again because she don’t fasten her dress quickly enough. It is always the same story. Faith, I don’t care, let her fix herself! Just look at my thumbs; I haven’t any flesh left round my nails.” Someone half opened the bedroom door; Madame Giraud stood at the entrance half dressed, and behind her came the maid, who resumed her broom, muttering: “Ah! what a dog’s life! as if I came here to squeeze her waist in!” At sight of me, Madame Giraud took one step backward, then three forward, and exclaimed: “Oh! pray excuse my disorderly appearance, Monsieur Blémont, but Monsieur Giraud is a terrible man; he never finishes dressing me! But I can’t remain half dressed. I give you my word, monsieur, that this dress is too big for me.” “And I give you my word, wife, that my thumbs are sore.” “Bah! you are a tender creature; and I have three calls to make before dinner, and you know that we dine at Madame Dumeillan’s, who has a box at the Porte-Saint-Martin.” “That is so, we dine out. Just imagine, my dear Blémont, that we have so many invitations that we don’t know which to accept.” “They dine early too. Oh dear! how unfortunate I am! I shall never be ready in time.” Madame Giraud had said enough for me. Delighted by what I had learned, I walked toward her.