Bertrand stole all he could lay his hands upon, and as for Ratter, he
gave more attention to cheese than he did to the mice.

One day, in the chimney corner, these two rascals sat watching some
chestnuts that were roasting before the fire. How jolly it would be to
steal them they thought: doubly desirable, for it would not only be joy
to themselves, but an annoyance to others.

"Brother," said Bertrand to Ratter, "this day you shall achieve your
master-stroke: you shall snatch some chestnuts out of the fire for me.
Providence has not fitted me for that sort of game. If it had, I assure
you chestnuts would have a fine time."

No sooner said than done. Ratter delicately stirred the cinders with his
paw, stretched out his claws two or three times to prepare for the
stroke, and then adroitly whipped out first one, then two, then three of
the chestnuts, whilst Bertrand crunched them up between his teeth. In
came a servant, and there was an end of the business. Farewell, ye
rogues!

I am told that Ratter was by no means satisfied with the affair.


And princes are equally dissatisfied when, flattered to be employed in
any uncomfortable concern, they burn their fingers in a distant province
for the profit of some king.