At last, seeing that he was on the point of being captured, Narcisse changed his tactics, and slipped under the table. Madame Capucine, although disconcerted for a moment by this evolution, soon found a way to profit by it; she thrust her switch under the table, striking at random to right and left. Thereupon, the old aunt began to cry out: her niece was switching her legs. Luckily, Cherami succeeded in pulling Narcisse out from under the table; he was forced to stand in front of Madame Duponceau; and his mother stationed herself by his side, with her stick in the air, saying in a threatening tone:
"Your poetry, quick!"
Master Narcisse, although still in the sulks, decided to obey, and muttered in a drawling voice:
"'Ah! que je suis—Ah! que je suis donc content!
De vous—de vous—de vous——'"
"De vous, what, idiot?"
"I forget."
"You just wait, and I'll freshen your memory, you bad boy!"
"'De vous fêter, objet charmant——'"
"It can't be objet charmant! I know that's wrong."
"Why do you think it can't be objet charmant, niece, I should like to know?" said Madame Duponceau, pursing up her lips.