"No, my uncle has dined."
"Who is it for, then?"
"For the other one."
"The other one? Is it for Jean-Louis?"
"Yes."
"You are very sure?"
"Yes, yes!" said she, laughing louder than ever.
"Very good," muttered Isidore between his teeth. He suddenly arose, and gave the dog a furious kick.
Barbette uttered a shrill scream. Her dog was her only friend; she threw herself between Isidore and the poor beast, which she clasped in her arms.
During this movement, which was very quick, the wretched Perdreau sprang towards the stove, threw into the soup a paper of white powder, which he had kept hidden in his hand, and disappeared in a second, like one who feels his clothes catching fire.