The first day M. Longuet received instructions about the tools. But in the following days he learned the art of the whole operation, and entered into each detail with little repugnance. He used to say, some days, in going away, jestingly: “You kill a calf every day; you must be careful, my dear M. Houdry, you see it will end by its becoming known to the other calves.” Théophraste was not idle, either. Whenever he had an opportunity he would help M. Houdry in these killings. One day the assistant did not come, and Théophraste helped rope up the calf for killing. As he was doing this, M. Houdry remarked on the evil of killing the calf by striking him on the head, as they did at the abattoir. Théophraste declared it was a crime, and most inhuman. “It is much finer to do it with the bleeder. One blow is sufficient, and the head is off. What a fine death. How the blood flows, and with what dispatch does he die.” “Ah,” said Théophraste, who had killed the calf, “see the calf’s eyes, as the blood flows. How they stare at you. They are dead, but they look at you!” “What is the matter with the calf’s eyes?” demanded M. Houdry. “They are like the rest. Ah, you think it is a joke? Well, well, you are not so used to it as I.” M. Houdry then prepared the meat for selling, and while he was doing so Théophraste took the head, cleaned it and cut out the eyes. The sight of the blood had excited him beyond control, and M. Houdry was amused when he desired to take the head and feet home with him. In parting he said: “Au revoir, M. Houdry, au revoir. I will take the head away with me, but I leave you the eyes. I do not like eyes to stare at me. You must not laugh at me, though. You do not understand me. However, it is my affair, and you must be glad that you are not afraid of dead eyes staring at you.” And so he returned home, and when he appeared at the door of his house with the calf’s head under his arm, Adolphe and Marceline smiled, saying: “He is amusing himself with some innocent prank.” CHAPTER XXIII _A Newspaper Report_ |IT had become their habit in the Longuet flat to play dominoes in the evening. M. Adolphe was a good player, and always he used the Norman provincial names. When he played the double six, he would call the “double negro”; the five was “the dog that bites,” and so on. Marceline was always amused by these terms, and was always ready to play. It happened on this particular evening that Théophraste lost his game, and after a short argument he began to sulk, and refused to play more. Seating himself in a chair near the window, he began reading the paper. He had strong political opinions. Suddenly he was attracted by a strange headline. He read it and re-read it, and could not resist an exclamation. “Strange! Is not Cartouche dead, then?”