Let us pause for a moment to consider this pipe, for this pipe grew to be, not merely an accessory, but an integral part of Mocquet. Nobody could remember ever having seen Mocquet without it. If by any chance Mocquet did not happen to have it in his mouth, he had it in his hand. This pipe, having to accompany Mocquet into the heart of the thickest coverts, it was necessary that it should be of such a kind as to offer the least possible opportunity to any other solid body of bringing about its destruction; for the destruction of his old, well-coloured cutty would have been to Mocquet a loss that years alone could have repaired. Therefore the stem of Mocquet’s pipe was not more than half-an-inch long; moreover you might always wager that half that half inch at least was supplied by the quill of a feather. This habit of never being without his pipe, which, by causing the almost entire disappearance of both canines, had hollowed out a sort of vice for itself on the left side of his mouth, between the fourth incisor and the first molar, had given rise to another of Mocquet’s habits; this was to speak with his teeth clenched, whereby a certain impression of obstinacy was conveyed by all he said.--This became even more marked if Mocquet chanced at any moment to take his pipe out of his mouth, for there was nothing then to prevent the jaws closing and the teeth coming together in a way which prevented the words passing through them at all except in a sort of whistle, which was hardly intelligible. Such was Mocquet with respect to outward appearance. In the following pages I will endeavour to give some idea of his intellectual capacity and moral qualities. IV Early one morning, before my father had risen, Mocquet walked into his room, and planted himself at the foot of the bed, stiff and upright as a sign-post. “Well, Mocquet,” said my father, “what’s the matter now? what gives me the pleasure of seeing you here at this early hour?” “The matter is, General,” replied Mocquet with the utmost gravity, “the matter is that I am _nightmared_.” Mocquet had, quite unawares to himself, enriched the language with a double verb, both active and passive. “You are _nightmared_?” responded my father, raising himself on his elbow. “Dear, dear, that’s a serious matter, my poor Mocquet.” “You are right there, General.” And Mocquet took his pipe out of his mouth, a thing he did rarely, and only on the most important occasions. “And how long have you been _nightmared_?” continued my father compassionately. “For a whole week, General.” “And who by, Mocquet?” “Ah! I know very well who by,” answered Mocquet, through his teeth, which were so much the more tightly closed that his pipe was in his hand, and his hand behind his back. “And may I also know by whom?” “By Mother Durand, of Haramont, who, as you will have heard, is an old witch.” “No, indeed, I assure you I had no idea of such a thing.”