We had now reached the little avenue of ash-trees which formed the entrance to the villa. To the left of the avenue the vulture was seen walking proudly to and fro in an immense tub, which Michel had made into a house for him.

'Ah! now I understand,' said I. 'Of course, directly he lives in a tub----'

'That's it!' said Michel. 'Directly he lives in a tub, he cannot be Jugurtha any more; he _must_ be Diogenes.'

I admired Michel's historical learning no less than I did his surgical skill, just as the year before, I had bowed before his superior knowledge of natural history.

VII

In order to lead to more incidents in the life of Pritchard I must now tell my readers that I had a friend called Charpillon, who had a pa.s.sion for poultry, and kept the finest hens in the whole department of Yonne. These hens were chiefly Cochins and Brahmapootras; they laid the most beautiful brown eggs, and Charpillon surrounded them with every luxury and never would allow them to be killed. He had the inside of his hen-house painted green, in order that the hens, even when shut up, might fancy themselves in a meadow. In fact, the illusion was so complete, that when the hen-house was first painted, the hens refused to go in at night, fearing to catch cold; but after a short time even the least intelligent among them understood that she had the good fortune to belong to a master who knew how to combine the useful with the beautiful. Whenever these hens ventured out upon the road, strangers would exclaim with delight, 'Oh! what beautiful hens!'

to which some one better acquainted with the wonders of this fortunate village would reply, 'I should think so! These are M. Charpillon's hens.' Or, if the speaker were of an envious disposition, he might add, 'Yes indeed! hens that _nothing_ is thought too good for!'

When my friend Charpillon heard that I had returned from Paris, he invited me to come and stay with him to shoot, adding as a further inducement that he would give me the best and freshest eggs I had ever eaten in my life. Though I did not share Charpillon's great love of poultry, I am very fond of fresh eggs, and the nankeen-coloured eggs laid by his Brahma hens had an especially delicate flavour. But all earthly pleasures are uncertain. The next morning Charpillon's hens were found to have only laid three eggs instead of eight. Such a thing had never happened before, and Charpillon did not know whom to suspect; however he suspected every one rather than his hens, and a sort of cloud began to obscure the confidence he had hitherto placed in the security of his enclosures. While these gloomy doubts were occupying us, I observed Michel hovering about as if he had something on his mind, and asked him if he wanted to speak to me.

'I should be glad to have a few words with you, sir.'

'In private?'

'It would be better so, for the honour of Pritchard.'

'Ah, indeed? What has the rascal been doing now?'

'You remember, sir, what your solicitor said to you one day when I was in the room?'

'What did he say, Michel? My solicitor is a clever man, and says many sensible things; still it is difficult for me to remember them all.'

'Well, sir,' he said, 'find out whom the crime benefits, and you will find the criminal.'

'I remember that axiom perfectly, Michel. Well?'

'Well, sir, whom can this crime of stolen eggs benefit more than Pritchard?'

'Pritchard? You think it is he who steals the eggs? Pritchard, who brings home eggs without breaking them!'

'You mean who _used_ to bring them. Pritchard is an animal who has vicious instincts, sir, and if he does not come to a bad end some day, I shall be surprised, that's all.'

'Does Pritchard eat eggs, then?'

'He does; and it is only right to say, sir, that that is _your_ fault.'

'What! my fault? My fault that Pritchard eats eggs?'

Michel shook his head sadly, but nothing could shake his opinion.

'Now really, Michel, this is too much! Is it not enough that critics tell me that I pervert everybody's mind with my corrupt literature, but you must join my detractors and say that my bad example corrupts Pritchard?'

'I beg pardon, sir, but do you remember how one day, at the Villa Medicis, while you were eating an egg, M. Rusconi who was there said something so ridiculous that you let the egg fall upon the floor?'

'I remember that quite well.'

'And do you remember calling in Pritchard, who was sc.r.a.ping up a bed of fuchsias in the garden, and making him lick up the egg?'

'I do not remember him sc.r.a.ping up a bed of fuchsias, but I do recollect that he licked up my egg.'

'Well, sir, it is that and nothing else that has been his ruin. Oh! he is quick enough to learn what is wrong; there is no need to show it him twice.'

'Michel, you are really extremely tedious. How have I shown Pritchard what is wrong?'

'By making him eat an egg. You see, sir, before that he was as innocent as a new-born babe; he didn't know what an egg was--he thought it was a badly made golf ball. But as soon as you make him eat an egg, he learns what it is. Three days afterwards, M. Alexandre came home, and was complaining to me of his dog--that he was rough and tore things with his teeth in carrying them. "Ah! look at Pritchard," I said to him, "how gentle _he_ is! you shall see the way he carries an egg." So I fetched an egg from the kitchen, placed it on the ground, and said, "Fetch, Pritchard!" Pritchard didn't need to be told twice, but what do you think the cunning rascal did? You remember, some days before, Monsieur ---- the gentleman who had such a bad toothache, you know. You recollect his coming to see you?'

'Yes, of course I remember.'

'Well, Pritchard pretended not to notice, but those yellow eyes of his notice everything. Well, all of a sudden he pretended to have the same toothache that that gentleman had, and crack! goes the egg. Then he pretends to be ashamed of his awkwardness--he swallows it in a hurry, sh.e.l.l and all! I believed him--I thought it was an accident and fetched another egg. Scarcely did he make three steps with the egg in his mouth than the toothache comes on again, and crack! goes the second egg. I began then to suspect something--I went and got a third, but if I hadn't stopped then he'd have eaten the whole basketful. So then M. Alexandre, who likes his joke, said, "Michel, you may possibly make a good musician of Pritchard, or a good astronomer, but he'll never be a good incubator!"'

'How is it that you never told me this before, Michel?'

'Because I was ashamed, sir; for this is not the worst.'

'What! not the worst?'

Michel shook his head.

'He has developed an unnatural craving for eggs; he got into M.

Acoyer's poultry-yard and stole all his. M. Acoyer came to complain to me. How do you suppose he lost his foot?'

'You told me yourself--in somebody's grounds where he had forgotten to read the notice about trespa.s.sing.'

'You are joking, sir--but I really believe he can read.'

'Oh! Michel, Pritchard is accused of enough sins without having _that_ vice laid to his charge! But about his foot?'

'I think he caught it in some wire getting out of a poultry-yard.'

'But you know it happened at night, and the hens are shut up at night.

How could he get into the hen-house?'

'He doesn't need to get into the hen-house after eggs; he can charm the hens. Pritchard is what one may call a charmer.'

'Michel, you astonish me more and more!'

'Yes, indeed, sir. I knew that he used to charm the hens at the Villa Medicis; only M. Charpillon has such wonderful hens, I did not think they would have allowed it. But I see now all hens are alike.'

'Then you think it is Pritchard who----'

'I think he charms M. Charpillon's hens, and that is the reason they don't lay--at least, that they only lay for Pritchard.'

'Indeed, Michel, I should much like to know how he does it!'