I took up the platter again and handed it to her, saying:
“Madame, you know very well that I am not in the habit of carving.”
“You may do as you choose, monsieur.”
“Do you refuse to carve it, madame?”
“Yes, monsieur.”
“Will you do it—once, twice?”
“No, monsieur.”
“In that case, as it is foolish to make the landlord a present of it——”
I took up the dish and threw the chicken out of the window. My wife involuntarily gave a little shriek. I walked to the window, for I noticed that the violin had stopped. I saw that the little Savoyard had just picked up the chicken, and fearing doubtless that someone would come out to get it, he hastily threw his violin over his shoulder, concealed the bird under his jacket, and ran across the Champs-Elysées as if the devil were at his heels.
At that sight I was unable to keep a sober face; I burst into a roar of laughter, which increased in volume when I saw that the little violinist ran faster than ever on seeing me at the window. Madame was unable to resist the desire to see what had become of the chicken. She saw the little fellow’s performance, and bit her lips to avoid laughing; but when I turned toward her, she could hold out no longer; she followed my example.