It is true that Riquet was barking at the top of his voice.
“Your sideboard is dusty,” remarked Zoe, putting her muff on it. “Doesn’t your servant ever do any dusting?”
Riquet could not bear anyone to lay hold of the sideboard like that. Either he had conceived a special aversion for Mademoiselle Zoe or he judged her the more important of the two, for it was to her that he addressed his loudest barks and growls. When he saw her place a hand upon the receptacle in which the human nutriment was stored he barked so shrilly that the glasses upon the table rang again. Mademoiselle Zoe, turning upon him suddenly, inquired ironically:
“Are you going to eat me up?”
Riquet fled in terror.
“Is your dog vicious, papa?”
“No, he is intelligent; he isn’t vicious.”
“I don’t think he’s particularly intelligent,” said Zoe.
“Yes, he is,” said Monsieur Bergeret. “He does not understand all our ideas; but we don’t understand all his. No one can enter into the mind of another.”
“You, Lucien, are no judge of persons,” said Zoe.