Supposing I marry this one, without seeking any further. I should
respect her as a child committed to my care; I should take her for
what she is: a fantastic and charming plaything. What an amusing
little household I should set up! Really short of marrying a china
ornament, I should find it difficult to choose better.

At this moment enters M. Kangourou, clad in a suit of gray tweed,
which might have come from _La Belle Jardiniere_ or the _Pont Neuf_,
with a pot hat and white thread gloves. His countenance is at once
foolish and cunning; he has hardly a nose, hardly any eyes. He makes a
real Japanese salutation: an abrupt dip, the hands placed flat on the
knees, the body making a right angle to the legs, as if the fellow
were breaking in two; a little snake-like hissing (produced by sucking
the saliva between the teeth, and which is the expression _nec plus
ultra_ of obsequious politeness in this country). "You speak French,
M. Kangourou?"

"_ sir" (renewed bows).

He makes one for each word I utter, as if he were a mechanical toy
pulled by a string; when he is seated before me on the ground, he
limits himself to a duck of the head--always accompanied by the same
hissing noise of the saliva.

"A cup of tea, M. Kangourou?"

Fresh salute and an extra affected gesticulation with the hands, as if
to say, "I should hardly dare. It is too great a condescension on your
part. However, anything to oblige you."