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           Fliesbuzzedintheairandinayellowcagestandingonthericketycounteraparrotwasslumpedonitsperchwithallitsfeathersdrooping.Oldpicturesshowingbattlesceneshungonthewalls,coveredwithdirtandthethickfilamentsofcobwebs.Birddroppingsweredryingonallthemetaltables,includingtheoneinfrontofRambert;hewasunabletoexplainquitewheretheycamefromuntil,afteralittlecommotioninadarkcorner,asplendidcockerelhoppedout.

           Justthentheheatseemedtoincreaseevenfurther.Cottardtookoffhisjacketandbangedonthetable.Asmallman,swampedinalongblueapron,cameoutfromtheback-room,greetedCottardassoonashesawhim,walkedoverkickingthecockerelasidesharplyandasked,amidthecluckingofthefowl,whathecouldgetthesegentlemen.Cottardwantedwhitewine,andheaskedafteracertainGarcia.Themidgetsaidthathehadnotseenhiminthecafeforafewdays.

           "Doyouthinkhe’llcomethisevening?"

           "Puh!"themansaid."I’mnothisminder.Doyouknowhisusualtime?"

           "Yes,butit’snotveryimportant.It’sjustthatIhaveafriendtointroducetohim."

           Thewaiterwipedhisdamppalmsonthefrontofhisapron.

           "Ah!IsMonsieurinbusiness,too?"

           "Yes,"saidCottard.

           Thelittlemansniffed:

           "Wellthen,comebackthisevening.I’llsendthekidforhim.