"You said, I think, that it was to be ten napoleons?" "No, monsieur; I said five napoleons." Cartier nudged my elbow harder and harder. "Ah! five napoleons?... You will not take ten?" "No, monsieur, and only that because I happen at this moment to be in great need of five napoleons." "Won't you take fifteen napoleons? I am sure the dog is worth fifteen napoleons." "No, no, no, no; give me five napoleons, and he is yours." "What do you call him?" "Pyramus." "Pyramus!" exclaimed the Englishman. Pyramus did not budge. "Oh," continued the Englishman, "what did you say you called him?" "I said Pyramus." "He did not stir when I called him." "That is because he is not yet accustomed to your pronunciation." "Oh, he will soon get used to it." "There is no doubt of it." "You think so?" "I am sure of it." "Good! I thank you, monsieur: here are the five napoleons." I hesitated to take them; but in the English accent with which he pronounced the last words there was an intonation which so cruelly reminded me of the German accent of Bamps that I decided. "I am much obliged to you, monsieur," I said. "On the contrary, it is I who ought to thank you," the Englishman replied, trying to raise himself afresh--an attempt which was as abortive as the first. I made him a sign with my hand, as I bowed; he sank back into his arm-chair, and I went out. "Well, now, how did it come about that Pyramus fell into the hands of such a master?" I asked old Cartier. "That scamp of a dog was born with a lucky spoon in his mouth!" "It was the simplest thing in the world. Valtat brought me a piece of lamb; Pyramus scented the fresh meat; he followed Valtat. Valtat came here; Pyramus came here. The Englishman got out of the carriage; he saw your dog. He had been recommended to take shooting exercise: he asked me if the dog was a good one; I told him it was. He asked me who owned the dog; I told him it belonged to you. He asked me if you would consent to sell it; I told him I would send and fetch you, and then he could ask you himself. I sent for you ... you came ... there's the whole story.... Pyramus is sold and you are not ill pleased?" "Why, certainly not! The rascal is such a thief that I should have been obliged to give him away or to break his neck.... He was ruining us!" Cartier shrugged his shoulders, as much as to say, "That would not be a difficult task!" Then, passing to another train of ideas, he said-- "So you have returned home?" "That is so." "You were sick of Crespy?" "I am sick of every place." "What do you want to do now?" "Why, I want to go to Paris." "And when do you start?" "May be sooner than you think." "Do not go without giving me an opportunity to pay you out." "Never fear!" Before I went to Crespy, I had thoroughly beaten Cartier at billiards. "Besides," I went on, "if I go, as I shall not leave in any carriage but one of yours, you can stop me on the step."