“I don’t eat much,” Phil answered.
“Socrate will eat for you, Monsieur Phil,” said Suzanne. She added: “I have a favor to ask you first: I don’t want you to kill the chicken!”
“But we shall have nothing else for the meal,” said Phil.
“Oh, Monsieur Phil, let her live! She’s so amusing! She would follow me in the street, and people would take her for a dog. But wouldn’t they laugh!”
“What a child you are!” Phil said.
“And then I’ll like you so much for it, and I’ll make you a nice salad,” Suzanne went on, “and I’ll get four sous’ worth of fried potatoes.”
“Granted!”
Just then they heard a couïc, and Socrate threw the chicken with its neck wrung at the feet of Suzanne.
“Enough sentimentality,” he said.
Seeing the turn things were taking, Socrate, who was not willing to miss his meal, had slyly stretched out his hand, seized the chicken, and put an end to it.