"'Et de quoi? Du roti du roi?' continued the parrot.
"Then might we, the observers, read in the physiognomy of Madame
Theophile, 'This is not a bird, it is a gentleman; it talks.'
"'Quand j'ai bu du vin clairet,
Tout tourne, tout tourne an cabaret,'
shrieked the parrot in a deafening voice, for it had perceived that its
best means of defence was the terror aroused by its speech. The cat cast
a glance at me which was full of questioning, but as my response was not
satisfactory, she promptly hid herself under the bed, and from that
refuge she could not be induced to stir during the whole of the day.
People who are not accustomed to live with animals, and who, like
Descartes, regard them as mere machines, will think that I lend
unauthorized meanings to the acts of the 'volatile' and the 'quadruped,'
but I have only faithfully translated their ideas into human language.
The next day Madame Theophile plucked up courage and made another
attempt, which was similarly repulsed. From that moment she gave it up,
accepting the bird as a variety of man.
"This dainty and charming animal was extremely fond of perfumes,
especially of patchouli and the scent exhaled by India shawls. She was
also very fond of music, and would listen, sitting on a pile of
music-books, while the fair singers who came to try the critic's piano
filled his room with melody. All the time Madame Theophile would evince
great pleasure.
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