When the gout left him at rest, that gentleman usually left his room about noon, and did not return until midnight, sometimes later; always cursing the dimly-lighted staircase, his wretchedly-kept apartment, and the servants who performed their duties inefficiently; and he ordinarily finished his complaints by saying:
"But, after all, as I can't hire any better lodgings, I must make the best of it, I must be a philosopher. I can no longer attract women, I have squandered my money, and with what little I have left I still manage to lose at cards. Such infernal luck! Louis XIV was right when he said to the Maréchal de Villeroi: 'At our age, a man has no luck!'—Ah! ten thousand devils! what would he have said if he had had the gout?"
But one morning, Monsieur de Roncherolle, finding that he was unable to put his left foot to the floor, was compelled to remain in his room, reading a great deal to pass the time away, and sleeping when the gout would allow.
Stretched out in the so-called armchair à la Voltaire, with his diseased foot on a cushion and wrapped in flannel, Monsieur de Roncherolle had been sleeping a few moments when a shrill, piercing shriek and a number of words uttered in a voice like Mr. Punch's, woke him abruptly. Then an ordinary human voice, much too loud for that of a neighbor, however, uttered these words:
"Very good, Coco, very good; you have plenty of voice, my friend; I know perfectly well that you can talk, for I heard you at your owner's café, and that is why I bought you. Now the question is to learn what I want you to say, and you will learn it, won't you, Coco?"
"Good-day, Monsieur Brillant!"
"Good-day, my friend, good-day! you say that very well; but I am not Monsieur Brillant, I am Saint-Arthur, De Saint-Arthur."
"Good-day, Monsieur Brillant!"
"Come, come, Coco, that isn't it; now listen: Dutaillis is lovely! applaud, clap Zizi!—There, that's what you must say; it's a little long perhaps, but you can learn it half at a time. Attention: Dutaillis is lovely!"
"Good-day, Monsieur Brillant!"