“What a pretty little round head!”
“One would swear that it was a Dutch cheese,” muttered Jasmin; but luckily for him, his master did not hear his reflection that time, or it would have caused the suppression of his present for good and all.
“He is built like an Apollo!—and he has—why, it is herculean! Look, Jasmin,—see how—how he has developed already!”
“It is marvelous,” said Jasmin, who, after examining the proportions of the child, made mentally the same reflection that he had made on the subject of his legs.
After Monsieur de Grandvilain had thoroughly scrutinized his son per fas et nefas, he handed him to his spouse, saying:
“By the way, my dear love, what shall we call him?”
“That is what I have been thinking of, my dear husband, ever since he was born.”
“My son must have a noble name. My own name is Sigismond; that is a good name, but I don’t like the idea of sons having their fathers’ names; that leads to mistakes, until you don’t know where you are.”
“Listen, monsieur le marquis, the most appropriate name for the dear love would be Chérubin. What do you say to that? Isn’t it a very pretty name?”
“Chérubin!” said the marquis, shaking his head; “that is very girlish; there is nothing warlike about it.”