“Qu’est-ce qu’il a fait donc?”
“Ah, madame! Il a volé le dindon rôti, et l’a tout mangé.”
“Ah, le petit polisson! Venez ici, Cupidon.”
Cupidon, the little negro-boy, we have before mentioned, as sitting in the corner of the room, walked up with a very deliberate pace to the side of the ottoman, his two thick lips sticking out about six inches in advance of the remainder of his person.
“Cupidon,” said the lady, turning a little on one side to speak to him, “tu as mangé le dindon entier. Tu as mal fait, mon ami. Tu seras malade. Comprends-tu, Cupidon, c’est une sottise que tu as fait?”
Cupidon made no reply; his head was hung down a little lower, and his lips extended a little farther out.
“Sache que tu es un petit voleur!” continued his mistress.
Cupidon did not condescend to answer.
“Allez, monsieur; ne m’approchez pas.”
Cupidon turned short round without reply, and walked back to his corner with the same deliberate pace as before, when he came out of it.