"My present?" exclaimed Baptiste, with a shrug of his shoulders.
"Yes, tell me, what is it?"
"A can of petroleum lighted under their bed. That is my present."
It was a smart answer. Moreover, this Baptiste was an astonishing man in politics.
"And yours, Célestine?" he asked, in his turn.
"Mine?"
I contracted my two hands into the shape of talons, and, pretending to claw a face ferociously, I answered:
"My nails, in their eyes!"
The butler, without being asked, remarked quietly, while arranging flowers and fruits in a glass dish with his fastidious fingers:
"I would be satisfied to sprinkle their faces in church with a bottle of good vitriol."