“I boast of it, but I do not wish to try. Call your captain of the guard, your Swiss, and let me go away from this invisible danger.”
“Chicot, I command you to stay.”
“On my word, a nice master. I am afraid, I tell you. Help!”
“Well, drôle, if I must, I will tell you all.”
“Ah!” cried Chicot, drawing his sword, “once warned, I do not care; tell, my son, tell. Is it a crocodile? my sword is sharp, for I use it every week to cut my corns.” And Chicot sat down in the armchair with his drawn sword between his legs.
“Last night,” said Henri, “I slept——”
“And I also,” said Chicot.
“Suddenly a breath swept over my face.”
“It was the dog, who was hungry, and who licked your cream.”
“I half woke, and felt my beard bristle with terror under my mask.”