“Come here, Giroflé, and have some food,” said the Princess, as she sat at the table.
“I am glad you call it food,” said he; “for my part, I should have called it garbage.”
The landlord, who was serving, looked at him angrily.
“I suppose you have never seen a spaniel of good family before, fellow?” snapped Giroflé, as he met his eye.
“Giroflé, behave yourself!” cried the Princess.
The landlord left the room, muttering.
So there Giroflé sat till his mistress had retired to bed; then he came out and went to warm himself by the hearth, for, the corner being cold, his exclusive demeanour had chilled him. Soon the landlord returned to take away the dishes.
“Oh, you are there, are you, little viper?” said he.
At this Giroflé turned upon him with such a torrent of impertinence as the man had never heard before. He had sharpened his tongue for years upon every member of the royal household, including the King himself, and the landlord, who soon found he was no match for him, grew almost frantic.
He rushed upon the little dog, trying to reach him with his foot and a soup-ladle which he held; but Giroflé tore about round the table and behind such furniture as there was, only darting out now and then to get a good snap at his heels. The Princess, who was not yet undressed, came downstairs to see what was the matter; for what between the landlord’s roars, Giroflé’s barks, the overturning of chairs and the wind and rain outside, the noise was really frightful.