"Oh, I will not disturb myself," said the Englishman, falling back in his arm-chair with a sigh. The time he took in getting up and falling back in his chair, with the rising and falling movement suggestive of an omelette soufflée which has fallen flat, was occupied by me in quickly glancing at him and his surroundings. He was a man of between forty and forty-five years of age, of sandy complexion, with his hair clipped short and his whiskers cut _en collier_; he wore a blue coat with metal buttons, a chamois leather waistcoat, breeches of grey woollen material with gaiters to match, after the fashion of grooms. He was seated before the table where he had just dined. The table bore the debris of a meal sufficient for six people. He must have weighed from three hundred to three hundred and fifty pounds. Pyramus was seated on the parquetry floor, looking very melancholy; round Pyramus were placed ten or twelve shiny plates, licked clean with that thoroughness I knew he was capable of in the matter of dirty plates. On the last plate, however, were some scraps still unconsumed. These unconsumed scraps were the cause of Pyramus's depressed spirits. "Please come and speak to me, monsieur," said the Englishman. I drew near him. Pyramus recognised me, yawned to notify the fact, stretched himself full length on his stomach so as to get as near to me as possible, his paws stretched out on the floor, his nose laid on his paws. "Yes, monsieur," I said to the Englishman. "Now!" said he. Then, after a pause, he added-- "That dog of yours has taken my fancy." "He is greatly honoured, monsieur." "And they have told me you might perhaps agree to sell him to me, if I were to pay you a good price for him." "I shall not need very much persuasion, monsieur; I have been trying to get rid of him, and since he pleases you ..." "Oh yes, he pleases me." "Well, then, take him." "Oh, I do not want to take the dog without paying for him." Cartier nudged my elbow. "Monsieur," I said, "I am not a dealer in dogs: he was given to me, I will give him to you." "Well, but he has cost you his keep." "Oh, the keep of a dog does not come to much." "Never mind; if is but fair I should pay for his food.... How long have you had him?" "Nearly two years." "Then I owe you for his food for two years." Cartier continued to nudge my elbow. And it occurred to me that the dog's keep would help admirably to pay for the master's clothes. "Very well," said I, "we will settle it so: you shall pay me for his keep." "Reckon it up." "What do you think of fifty francs per year?" "Oh! oh!" "Is it too much?" I asked. "On the contrary, I do not think it is enough: the dog eats a lot." "Yes, true, monsieur; I was intending to warn you of that." "Oh, I have witnessed it; but I like animals and people who eat a lot: it shows they have a good digestion, and a good digestion tends to good humour." "Very well, then, you shall fix your own charge."