“‘I fear not,’ said my husband; ‘but if they do succeed in overtaking the old fox, they ‘ll have the skin off him.’
“Cruel enough, thought I to myself, considering it was the creature’s instinct.
“‘These, however, are the orders of the Court; and when you have signed this one, I shall set off in pursuit of him at once.’ So said my husband, as he produced a roll of papers from his pocket, which the ape perused with the greatest avidity.
“‘He’ll be for crossing the water, I warrant.’
“‘No doubt of it,’ said my husband. ‘France will be too hot for him for a while.’
“‘Poor beast,’ said I, ‘he’ll be happier in his native snows.’
“At this they both laughed heartily; and the ape signed his name to the papers, and brushed the sand over them with the tip of his tail.
“‘We must get back to Paris at once,’ said he, ‘and in a coach too, for I cannot have a mob after me again.’
“‘Leave that to me,’ said my husband. ‘I’ll see you safely home. Meanwhile let me lend you a cloak and a hat;’ and, with these words, he dressed up the creature so that when the collar was raised you would not have known him from that gentleman opposite.
“‘Adieu,’ said he, ‘Madame,’ with a wave of his hand, ‘au revoir, I hope, if it would give you any pleasure to witness our little performances—’