Hark! A gentle tapping at the blue window that looks out on the garden!
What is it? Nothing; a bough of hawthorn that has come to see what we
are doing in the cool kitchen. Trees are inquisitive and often excited;
but they do not count, one has nothing to say to them, they are
irresponsible, they obey the wind, which has no principles.... But what
is that? I hear steps!... Up, ears open; nose on the alert!... It is the
baker coming up to the rails, while the postman is opening a little gate
in the hedge of lime-trees. They are friends; it is well; they bring
something: you can greet them and wag your tail discreetly twice or
thrice, with a patronizing smile....

Another alarm! What is it now? A carriage pulls up in front of the
steps. The problem is a complex one. Before all, it is of consequence to
heap copious insults on the horses, great, proud beasts, who make no
reply. Meantime, you examine out of the corner of your eye the persons
alighting. They are well-clad and seem full of confidence. They are
probably going to sit at the table of the gods. The proper thing is to
bark without acrimony, with a shade of respect, so as to show that you
are doing your duty, but that you are doing it with intelligence.
Nevertheless, you cherish a lurking suspicion and, behind the guests'
backs, stealthily, you sniff the air persistently and in a knowing way,
in order to discern any hidden intentions.

But halting footsteps resound outside the kitchen. This time it is the
poor man dragging his crutch, the unmistakable enemy, the hereditary
enemy, the direct descendant of him who roamed outside the bone-cramped
cave which you suddenly see again in your racial memory. Drunk with
indignation, your bark broken, your teeth multiplied with hatred and
rage, you are about to seize their reconcilable adversary by the