"I try to be worthy of my name," said Monsieur Brid'oison, with dignity.
"You are quite capable of it, monsieur. Do you stutter?"
"No, indeed."
"That's a pity; but it may come in time."
"And this is my son Artaban, who is already very strong in gymnastics."
"Is that so? Well, I am not surprised; the little fellow has Hercules written all over his face."
"Do you think so?"
And Monsieur Brid'oison, pleased beyond words, patted his son on the cheek and said to him:
"Do you hear? you resemble Hercules!"
"In what way, papa?"