“But a bowl of wine, you dunderhead! Why, you must have been dead drunk.” “The shepherd drank half of it.” “I see; now I understand why he prescribed it. And did the bowl of wine have any effect?” “Not any, General; she came trampling over my chest that night, just as if I had taken nothing.” “And what did you do next? You were not obliged, I suppose, to limit your efforts to your bowl of hot wine?” “I did what I do when I want to catch a _wily beast_.” Mocquet made use of a phraseology which was all his own; no one had ever succeeded in inducing him to say a _wild beast_; every time my father said _wild beast_, Mocquet would answer, “Yes, General, I know, a _wily beast_.” “You still stick to your _wily beast_, then?” my father said to him on one occasion. “Yes, General, but not out of obstinacy.” “And why then, may I ask?” “Because, General, with all due respect to you, you are mistaken about it.” “Mistaken? I? How?” “Because you ought not to say a _wild beast_, but a _wily beast_.” “And what is a _wily beast_, Mocquet?” “It is an animal that only goes about at night; that is, an animal that creeps into the pigeon-houses and kills the pigeons, like the pole-cat, or into the chicken-houses, to kill the chickens, like the fox; or into the folds, to kill the sheep, like the wolf; it means an animal which is cunning and deceitful, in short, a _wily beast_.” It was impossible to find anything to say after such a logical definition as this.--My father, therefore, remained silent, and Mocquet, feeling that he had gained a victory, continued to call _wild beasts_, _wily beasts_, utterly unable to understand my father’s obstinacy in continuing to call _wily beasts_, _wild beasts_. So now you understand why, when my father asked him what else he had done, Mocquet answered, “I did what I do when I want to catch a _wily beast_.” We have interrupted the conversation to give this explanation; but as there was no need of explanation between my father and Mocquet, they had gone on talking, you must understand, without any such break. VI “And what is it you do, Mocquet, when you want to catch this animal of yours?” asked my father. “I set a _trarp_, General.” Mocquet always called a trap a trarp. “Do you mean to tell me you have set a trap to catch Mother Durand?” My father had of course said _trap_; but Mocquet did not like anyone to pronounce words differently from himself, so he went on: “Just so, General; I have set a _trarp_ for Mother Durand.” “And where have you put your _trarp_? Outside your door?” My father, you see, was willing to make concessions. “Outside my door! Much good that would be! I only know she gets into my room, but I cannot even guess which way she comes.” “Down the chimney, perhaps?” “There is no chimney, and besides, I never see her until I feel her.” “And you do see her, then?” “As plainly I see you, General.” “And what does she do?”