“What’s this, my dear love?” said monsieur le marquis, scrutinizing what his son was sucking.
“My dear,” said madame, sorely confused, “it’s a supplement.”
“A supplement! The deuce, my dear love, you use a supplement, and without letting me know?”
“My dear, there are times when my milk doesn’t flow freely, and we must not let this dear little fellow suffer on that account.”
“Certainly not, madame, but if you had only confessed to me sooner that you use a supplement, I, for my part, should not have hesitated to tell you that I wished to change our son’s diet. He is not making progress, marchioness, that is evident. I believe that milk is not what he needs. I am less surprised since I find that it is not yours. In short, I propose to try another method; I propose to give my son wine to drink.”
“Wine, my dear! Can you think of such a thing! A child of three months!”
“Who was magnificent when he came into the world, and who is visibly pining away with your bottle. I will give him claret, that is a mild and generous wine. If that works well, later we will try burgundy.”
“But, monsieur, on the contrary, the very lightest things, ass’s milk, is what Chérubin needs!”
“Ass’s milk for my son! Fie, madame! I will not listen to such a thing. Can it be that you would like to make an ass of him? He shall drink wine.”
“He shall drink milk.”