"I don't understand," murmured Blanquette looking at him helplessly.
"Have the kindness," said he, pointing to the table, "to smash that confounded violin into a thousand pieces."
"Mon Dieu! What is the matter?" cried Blanquette.
"It does not please me."
"I know it is not a good one," said Blanquette. "We will save money until we can buy a better."
"I would execrate it were it a Stradivarius," said he, his mouth full of sop. "Asticot," he called, "don't you loathe your tambourine?"
"Yes, Master," I replied from the floor.
"Do you love playing the zither?"
"But no, Maître," said Blanquette.
"Why then," said my master, "should we pursue a career which is equally abominable to the three of us? We are not slaves, nom d'un chien!"