Show me the
underside of your paws. Horrors! One would say 'twas the stone they
sharpen knives on! Look at mine. Satin on top, velvet underneath.

TOBY-DOG

I'd like to see you in the country, on the cobble-stones.

THE LITTLE DOG

I've been there, Sir. I was in the country last summer and there weren't
any cobble-stones.

TOBY-DOG

Then it wasn't the country. You don't know what country means.

THE LITTLE DOG, (_vexed_)

Indeed I do, Sir! It's fine sand, and velvety lawns that are swept every
morning; it's a reclining chair on the grass, great, fresh cushions of
cretonne, foamy milk, naps in the shade, and charming little red apples
to play with.

TOBY-DOG, (_shaking his head_)

No. It's the road covered with white powder that makes the eyelids smart
and the paws burn, the tough, shriveled, sweet-smelling grass, where I
scratch my nose and my gums; it's the fearful night--for I'm the only
one to guard them, He and She. I lie in my basket, but the beating of my
poor overdriven heart keeps me awake. I hear a dog crying to me from far
off, that the Bad Man has passed on the road. Is he coming in my
direction? Will I be obliged in another minute, my eyes bloodshot and
tongue dry as chalk, to throw myself upon him and devour his shadowy
face?...

THE LITTLE DOG, (_trembling and in ecstasy_)

Go on! Go on! Oh! how frightened I am!...

TOBY-DOG, (_modestly_) Don't be afraid--it has never happened. All
that is the country, yes, and the interminable hill, in the shadow of
the carriage, when thirst, hunger, heat and fatigue, render the soul
submissive and hopeless ...

THE LITTLE DOG, (_quite worked up_)

And then?

TOBY-DOG

Oh, nothing. One arrives at the house, after all, and the pail of dark
water, one drinks without taking breath, ("his tongue," She says, "his
big tongue is parted in the center, like an iris-petal") while sore
eyelids and dusty lashes are splashed with cooling drops.... The country
is all that and many things besides....

KIKI-THE-DEMURE, (_on the piano, musingly_)

All that, yes ...and the habits of the year before that one finds again,
molded to one's shape, like a cushion marked with the imprint of a long
sleep ...the long nights of freedom, when the lone owlet, with his sad
little laugh, makes his way through the air as quietly as I do on the
ground, and silvery gray rats cling to the vines, eating grapes and
keeping their eyes on me at the same time. It's the sun-cure on th