Michel (sobbing). What shall I do—oh, what shall I do?
Lustucru. What is the matter?
Michel. Oh dear! oh dear!
Lustucru. What has happened? Is—is Moumouth— [Eagerly.]
Michel. My poor Moumouth!
Lustucru. What! is Moumouth—dead?
Michel (unheedingly). He just looked up at me once, and waved his dear tail, then looked once more at me, and—[sobs]—and—[sobs]
Lustucru (eagerly). And died?
Michel. No, no (sobbing); he would not eat the hash.