"With whom?"
"Here's your third."
It was All's Well. He came trotting along, without hurrying more than usual. He frisked round Stéphane, wagged his tail to Don Luis, as though to say, "I know you: you and I are pals," and squatted on his hind-quarters, with the air of one who does not wish to disturb people.
"That's right, All's Well!" cried Don Luis. "You also want to hear all about the adventure. Your curiosity does you honour; and I won't disappoint you."
Don Luis appeared to be delighted. He had an audience, a full bench of judges. Vorski was writhing on his tree. It was an exquisite moment.
He cut a sort of caper which must have reminded Vorski of the ancient Druid's pirouettes and, drawing himself up, bowed, imitated a lecturer taking a sip of water from a tumbler, rested his hands on an imaginary table and at last began, in a deliberate voice:
"Ladies and Gentlemen:
"On the twenty-fifth of July, in the year seven hundred and thirty-two B. C. . . ."