"You old fool!" cried the beggar, angrily, "why did you leave the calling you were in? You might have avenged yourself on the men you detest; for you do not appear to me to be very learned, and you might have poisoned the universe with your drugs and your blunders." The beggar was still speaking, when his attention was attracted by a gigantic elephant in an adjoining court. "An elephant!" he cried. "Who can have asked to be turned into an elephant? an ant, I'll wager." However, the old man was mistaken; it was not an ant that had desired to be turned into an elephant: it was a rabbit. He had only recently obtained that signal favour, and was still puffed up with pride at his metamorphosis. He was walking about heavily, and with an air of importance, and received condescendingly all the compliments addressed to him on his new promotion. The beggar, having learned his history, advanced towards him familiarly. "Good-day, bunny!" he said. "Well, how do you like your big skin?" [Illustration: "'AN ELEPHANT!' HE CRIED."] The elephant was greatly shocked at this disrespectful tone; but the small practice he had had in the use of his trunk prevented him from seeking to avenge himself. "Thoroughly--as you see," he replied, strutting. "Is it long since you asked this favour?" inquired the beggar, maliciously. "No," replied the elephant; "a few days ago only; as an old rabbit, I had incontestable claims. I have really only changed in form: my colour remains the same; my ears, instead of standing up, now fall down--that is the only difference." "The idiot!" thought the beggar; "he does not even believe himself to have been changed!" "Tell me, my dear fellow," said Alméric, who was greatly amused by the rabbit's stupidity, "don't you find your ordinary habits somewhat deranged?" "You remind me," replied the rabbit, as if suddenly struck by an idea: "I am afraid I _shall_ find my increased bulk inconvenient, on returning to my burrow this evening." This time the young man could not possibly refrain from laughing at that reflection. "Would you like to see the beautiful woman, gentlemen?" asked the lackey who was conducting them. "Yes, yes," replied Alméric, eagerly. "I should like to see the 'beautiful woman.' Where is she?" "This way, gentlemen. Be good enough to enter this boudoir." They passed into a charming room, formed entirely of looking-glasses--the ceiling, the wainscotting, all was of looking-glass, in which one could admire oneself from every point of view. The beautiful woman was lying upon a sofa. On beholding her, the beggar and Alméric fell back in horror. This beautiful woman was a monstrosity, but believed herself to be a _chef d'oeuvre_. Every part of her was beautiful, and yet she appeared horrible; because the exaggeration of beauties makes a hideous ensemble; because it is harmony which gives grace to things we admire, movement which gives life; and this beautiful woman had neither grace nor movement.