For a third time, the Chaplain leans towards the little Dauphin and whispers to him for some time.... In the middle of his discourse, the Royal child interrupts him angrily: --Well then, he cries, it's completely pointless being the Dauphin! The little Dauphin has heard enough, and he turns towards the wall sobbing bitterly. II THE SUB-PREFECT TAKES A DAY OFF. The Sub-Prefect was on his rounds. He was being carried majestically in the official barouche, complete with coachman and lackey, to the Combe-aux-Fée's Regional selection meeting. The Sub-Prefect had put on his best embroidered clothes; his opera hat, his skin-tight silver striped breeches, and his dress-sword with mother of pearl handle for this important day.... He was looking ruefully down at his knees, on which lies a large, embossed-leather, briefcase. The Sub-Prefect was thinking about the speech which he must soon give before the residents of Combe-aux-Fées: --Gentlemen and constituents.... But he might just as well have twiddled with his blond whiskers and repeated it twenty times for all the good it did: --Gentlemen and constituents.... But nothing more of the speech would come. Nothing more of the speech would come.... It was getting really warm in the barouche!... Under the Midi sun, the road to Combe-aux-Fées shimmers until it fades into the distance.... The very air burns you ... and, at the roadside, thousands of cicadas are calling to each other, from one white, dust-covered elm to another.... Suddenly, the Sub-Prefect started. Down at the foot of a hill, he noticed a small wood of green oaks which seemed to beckon him. The small wood of green oaks which seemed to beckon him: --Come over here, Sub-Prefect, you will find composing your speech much easier in the shade of my trees.... The Sub-Prefect was captivated; he jumped down from the barouche and told his men to wait there for him, as he was going to compose his speech over in the small wood of green oaks. In the small wood of green oaks, there were birds, violets, and springs hidden in the delicate grass.... When the birds noticed the Sub-Prefect with his gorgeous breeches and his large, leather-embossed briefcase, they became alarmed and stop singing, the springs are scared and stop their babbling, and the violets hid themselves in the grass.... This whole world in miniature had never seen a Sub-Prefect before, and they quietly wondered who this dignitary was, walking around in silver breeches. Meanwhile, the Sub-Prefect, delighted by the silence and the coolness of the wood, lifted his coat-tails, put his hat on the grass, and sat down in the moss at the foot of a young oak. He then put the large, leather-embossed briefcase on his knees, opened it, and took out a long sheet of official paper. --He's an artist, said the warbler. --No, said the bullfinch, he's not an artist; with his silver breeches, he's more of a prince. --He's more of a prince, said the bullfinch.