Gazonal, who played the intrepid, entered bravely, and found himself
in presence of one of those women forgotten by Death, who no doubt
forgets them intentionally in order to leave some samples of Itself
among the living. He saw before him a withered face in which shone
fixed gray eyes of wearying immobility; a flattened nose, smeared with
snuff; knuckle-bones well set up by muscles that, under pretence of
being hands, played nonchalantly with a pack of cards, like some
machine the movement of which is about to run down. The body, a
species of broom-handle decently covered with clothes, enjoyed the
advantages of death and did not stir. Above the forehead rose a coif
of black velvet. Madame Fontaine, for it was really a woman, had a
black hen on her right hand and a huge toad, named Astaroth, on her
left. Gazonal did not at first perceive them.

The toad, of surprising dimensions, was less alarming in himself than
through the effect of two topaz eyes, large as a ten-sous piece, which
cast forth vivid gleams. It was impossible to endure that look. The
toad is a creature as yet unexplained. Perhaps the whole animal
creation, including man, is comprised in it; for, as Lassailly said,
the toad exists indefinitely; and, as we know, it is of all created
animals the one whose marriage lasts the longest.

The black hen had a cage about two feet distant from the table,
covered with a green cloth, to which she came along a plank which
formed a sort of drawbridge between the cage and the table.

When the woman, the least real of the creatures in this Hoffmanesque
den, said to Gazonal: "Cut!" the worthy provincial shuddered
involuntarily. That which renders these beings so formidable is the
importance of what we want to know. People go to them, as they know