credited
with having committed frightful misdeeds in '93. He lived near the river
in the ruins of a pig-sty. The urchins peeped at him through the cracks
in the walls and threw stones that fell on his miserable bed, where he
lay gasping with catarrh, with long hair, inflamed eyelids, and a tumour
as big as his head on one arm.

She got him some linen, tried to clean his hovel and dreamed of
installing him in the bake-house without his being in Madame's way. When
the cancer broke, she dressed it every day; sometimes she brought him
some cake and placed him in the sun on a bundle of hay; and the poor old
creature, trembling and drooling, would thank her in his broken voice,
and put out his hands whenever she left him. Finally he died; and she
had a mass said for the repose of his soul.

That day a great joy came to her: at dinner-time, Madame de
Larsonniere's servant called with the parrot, the cage, and the perch
and chain and lock. A note from the baroness told Madame Aubain that as
her husband had been promoted to a prefecture, they were leaving that
night, and she begged her to accept the bird as a remembrance and a
token of her esteem.

Since a long time the parrot had been on Felicite's mind, because he
came from America, which reminded her of Victor, and she had approached
the negro on the subject.

Once even, she had said:

"How glad Madame would be to have him!"

The man had repeated this remark to his mistress who, not being able to
keep the bird, took this means of getting rid of it.

CHAPTER IV

He was called Loulou. His body was green, his head blue, the tips of his
wings were pink and his breast was golden.

But he had the tiresome tricks of biting his perch, pulling his feathers
out, scattering refuse and spilling the water of his bath. Madame Aubain
grew tired of him and gave him to Felicite for good.

She undertook his education, and soon he was able to repeat: "Pretty
boy! Your servant, sir! I salute you, Marie!" His perch was placed near
the door and several persons were astonished that he did not answer to
the name of "Jacquot," for every parrot is called Jacquot. They called
him a goose and a log, and these taunts were like so many dagger thrusts
to Felicite. Strange stubbornness of the bird which would not talk when
people watched him!

Nevertheless, he sought society; for on Sunday, when the ladies
Rochefeuille, Monsieur de Houppeville and the new habitues, Onfroy, the
chemist,