The inhabitants saw the gorgeous procession pass with indifference, with a superior kind of air and without the least enthusiasm.

On the evening of the first performance, in spite of the placards, processions, bands, notices, and illuminations, nobody appeared at the ticket-office of the theatre and they played to an empty house.

“What,” cried the impresario, tearing his hair.  “Crowds flocked to me in London, Paris, St. Petersburg, and New York.  I have been congratulated by the Shah of Persia, invited to lunch by the Grand Turk, and this little hole despises me, mocks at me, considers me a failure.”

The lights out, Sir Booum spent a terrible night, wondering what evil genius could thus attack his laurels.  At dawn, worn out by his sleepless night, he set out, eager to learn the cause of his failure.

All those whom he met winked knowingly, laughing in their sleeves, and courtesied to him without giving him any information.  At last one, touched by his despair, answered: 

“Why should we come to you?  We have here in this very place, where we can see it for nothing, a marvel beside which yours are commonplace.  Have you in your menagerie a curly-haired hen?”

“A curly-haired hen!” cried Sir Booum.  “Gracious, goodness me!  What are you talking about?  Three times have I been round the world and have never heard of such a thing.”

“Go to the big farm down yonder and you can see the one I am telling you about.  You will be ashamed to think how uninteresting in comparison are the things you show.”

A few minutes later, a magnificent equipage, driven by an elegant gentleman and drawn by two light bays, entered the courtyard of the big farm.

“Does Madame Etienne live here, please?” he asked Petit-Jacques, who was busy grooming Coco.

“Yes, sir.”

“Will you kindly give her this card and ask if she will see me?”

“Certainly, sir, at once.”

Petit-Jacques returned a few minutes later with Mother Etienne.

The gentleman got down from his seat, handing the reins to his groom.

“Excuse me, Madame.  I am Sir Booum.  It was my circus which gave its first performance here yesterday as announced on the placards posted on the walls throughout the village.

I have heard, Madame, that you have a most extraordinary hen, and I have come to beg you to show it to me.  If it is really such as it was described to me, I will buy it at once.”

“Sir,” said Mother Etienne, “I am very pleased to meet you; I will show you Yollande as you ask, but sell her to you?—­never.  I love the dear thing far too well to part with her.”

“But, Madame, if I give you a large sum?  How much do you ask?  Name your figure.”

Mother Etienne, without answering a word, went off to fetch the Cochin-China hen to show to her visitor.

American as he was, he was astounded and was soon convinced that there had been no exaggeration.  This was indeed the curly-haired hen.