“Naughty boy.... Think of all we have to get into the carriage. Leon’s rocking-horse, Louise’s muff, your father’s slippers, Ernestine’s quilt, the bonbons, the work-box. I declare, aunt’s cushion must go under the coachman’s feet.” “Papa, why doesn’t the giraffe eat cutlets?” “I really don’t know, dear.” “Neither do I, papa.” An hour later we are ascending the staircase leading to Aunt Ursula’s. My wife counts the steps as she pulls herself up by the hand-rail, and I carry the famous cushion, the bonbons, and my son, who has insisted on bringing his giraffe with him. Aunt Ursula, who produces the same effect on him as the sight of a rod would, is waiting us in her icy little drawing-room. Four square armchairs, hidden beneath yellow covers, stand vacant behind four little mats. A clock in the shape of a pyramid, surmounted on a sphere, ticks under a glass case. A portrait on the wall, covered with fly-spots, shows a nymph with a lyre, standing beside a waterfall. This nymph was Aunt Ursula. How she has altered! “My dear aunt, we have come to wish you a Happy New Year.” “To express our hopes that--” “Thank you, nephew, thank you, niece,” and she points to two chairs. “I am sensible of this step on your part; it proves to me that you have not altogether forgotten the duties imposed upon you by family ties.” “You are reckoning, my dear aunt, without the affection we feel for you, and which of itself is enough... Baby, go and kiss your aunt.” Baby whispers in my ear, “But, papa, I tell you she does prick.” I place the bonbons on a side-table. “You can, nephew, dispense with offering me that little gift; you know that sweetmeats disagree with me, and, if I were not aware of your indifference as to the state of my health, I should see in your offering a veiled sarcasm. But let that pass. Does your father still bear up against his infirmities courageously?” “Thank you, yes.” “I thought to please you, dear aunt,” observes my wife, “by embroidering for you this cushion, which I beg you to accept.” “I thank you, child, but I can still hold myself sufficiently upright, thank God, not to have any need of a cushion. The embroidery is charming, it is an Oriental design. You might have made a better choice, knowing that I like things much more simple. It is charming, however, although this red next to the green here sets one’s teeth on edge. Taste in colors is, however, not given to every one. I have, in return, to offer you my photograph, which that dear Abbe Miron insisted on my having taken.” “How kind you are, and how like you it is! Do you recognize your aunt, Baby?” “Do not think yourself obliged to speak contrary to your opinion. This photograph does not in any way resemble me, my eyes are much brighter. I have also a packet of jujubes for your child. He seems to have grown.” “Baby, go and kiss your aunt.” “And then we shall go, mamma?” “You are very rude, my dear.”