"This one, my dear love, is not like most pies.--Come, Beauvinet, come in!"
The old young man from the lodging house appeared, bringing a very handsome pie, which he held as if it were the keys of a conquered town; he placed it on the table, looked about at everybody with a self-satisfied expression; then pulled his wig over his left ear.
Everybody looked at the pie, which had an inviting aspect. Saint-Arthur seemed overjoyed; he jumped up and down on his chair, exclaiming:
"Ah! I should say that that is the thing!"
"It is a very handsome pie," said Jéricourt. "Where did it come from? Strasbourg?"
"Come, Frefred," said Zizi, "if the pie is so delicious, cut into it and let us taste it."
"One moment, my dear love, one moment; it isn't to be cut into like that; I request silence for a moment, and attention."
And the young host, putting his face down to the pie, said in an undertone:
"Dutaillis is lovely.--Come, Coco, come, come!"
"What's this? Alfred is talking to the pie now!" cried Zizi, opening her eyes to their fullest extent.
"Hush, my dear love! hush I say!--Come, Coco--Dutaillis is--go on."
But in vain did they listen and wait; the pie maintained the most profound silence.
"Are you playing proverbs with the pie, my Bibi?"
"Yes, I am playing--that is to say, the pie is going to speak."
"The pie going to speak! ah! I would like right well to hear it, on my word!"
"Just a little patience. I can't understand what the matter is with him; he must have gone to sleep in there.--Coco, Coco--Dutaillis is lovely.--Ah! you won't speak, won't you? I will wake you up."
And Saint-Arthur, taking the huge pie in both hands, began to shake it with all his strength; then he replaced it on the table, saying:
While they waited again in silence, Monsieur Beauvinet ventured to blow his nose, which drew down upon his head a stern reprimand from his tenant.
"But whom are you calling a beast, and what is it that's in the pie?" asked Mademoiselle Zizi, beginning to get tired of keeping still for nothing.
"Well, my dear love, it is a parrot, a magnificent parrot, which I have taught to say: 'Dutaillis is lovely! applaud, clap Zizi!'"
"Ah! the poor creature! is it possible? Why, he must be stifled in there; that's why he doesn't speak.--Monsieur de Roncherolle, take the crust off at once."