A bird which from afar looked enormous, but which seen close to was not so very big after all, darkened for a moment the sky above the boulevard and sped like a whirlwind towards the café; bursting through the window, it put out Cocles’ eye with one stroke of its wing and then, chirruping as it did so, tenderly indeed but imperiously, fell with a swoop upon Prometheus’ right side.
And Prometheus forthwith undid his waistcoat and offered his liver to the bird.
V
There was a great disturbance. Voices now mingled confusedly, for some other people had come into the restaurant.
—But for goodness’ sake, take care! cried Cocles.
His remark was unheard beneath the loud cries of:
—That! an eagle! I don’t think!! Look at that poor gaunt bird! That ... an eagle!—Not much!! at the most, a conscience.
The fact is that the great eagle was pitiful to see—thin and mangy, and with drooping wings as it greedily devoured its miserable pittance, the poor bird seemed as if it had not eaten for three days.
Others, nevertheless, made a fuss and whispered insinuatingly to Prometheus: But, sir, I hope you do not think that this eagle distinguishes you in any way. An eagle, shall I tell you?—an eagle, we all have one.