"Yes, I like rabbits, and I want to play with 'em."
"It seems to me," said Cherami, "that you ought not to be too hard on the child for liking rabbits; this is a good school for that. By dint of eating a thing, one sometimes ends by acquiring a taste for it. When I was a boy, I remember, I could not endure bread-soup, but they made me eat it every day to force me to like it."
"And you ended by liking it?"
"No; I detest it!"
"Come, Narcisse, come and recite your poetry to your dear aunt—if you don't, she won't give you another beautiful hat with feathers."
"I don't want any more of her feathers; they make me blind. Somebody told me that I looked like a trained dog in that hat."
"Look out, Monsieur Narcisse, or we shall be cross with you! Your poetry, this minute!"
"No, I won't!"
"Ah! we'll see about that, you little rascal!"
Madame Capucine left the table, seized Cherami's switch, which was standing in a corner, and advanced upon her son; but young Narcisse, when he saw what he was threatened with, began to run around the table, thus compelling his mother, still armed with the formidable switch, to run after him, striking blindly in every direction. Thinking that she was chastising her son, she twice brought the switch down on Cherami's shoulders, who found the manœuvre executed by the stout woman and her son far from amusing, although it reminded him somewhat of a circus performance.