"What a love of a dog!" cried he in apparent ecstasy. "I never saw a prettier little animal in my life! What kind of a dog do you call that, madam?"
"It is a Scotch dog, my young friend," replied the old lady, evidently much flattered; "you have very good taste, for he is really a very pretty creature."
"He is a love!" ejaculated Polycarpe.
"I have brought him here for a bath," continued the old lady. "I think that it would do him good if he would swim a little."
"That it would, madam," answered Polycarpe, stroking and kissing the fat, wheezy little animal; "but it would be well to give him a little rubbing first; his skin is rather dirty, I perceive, madam, on looking close. I'll wash him for you, if you like. I'm used to washing dogs. I wash my mother's dog every Saturday, madam."
"Really!" said the old lady. "Well, I should be glad to give Zozor a good washing, but I'm afraid he's difficult; he don't like it; he never did."
"That's nothing, madam. Julius Caesar—that's my mother's dog— don't like it, but he's obliged to, for it's for his good. You should just see Julius Caesar when I've washed and dressed him! He's perfectly beautiful! He's a poodle, quite white, and I've cut his coat so that he has a flounce round each ankle, three rows of fringe on his hips, a fine bandelet on his side, a frill on his chest, and a magnificent tassel at the end of his tail."
"He must be very handsome," remarked the old lady, who had listened with much interest to this description.
"He is, madam. My mother says no one can dress a dog better than I can. So I'll wash Zozor, if you like; I'll not hurt him in the least."
"You're very kind, indeed," said the old lady. "I really shall be very much obliged to you. Now then, Zozor, don't be naughty; it will do you good, Zozor."