A family of big African monkeys, by their challenging, crafty air, reminded her unpleasantly of a band of good-for-nothings who for months had spread terror and desolation throughout the country.  The chief—­or the one who appeared to be the chief—­the biggest and strongest, hurled himself at the bars and shook them in his clenched hands.  He would certainly have enjoyed strangling Mother Etienne, had he been able to do so.  Since he was not able to, he displayed in a huge yawn, a terrifying set of teeth, worthy of a wild beast.  They were horrid animals, I assure you, not the kind you would like to meet loose on a lonely road.

Fortunately some pretty little witsits, with black faces, no bigger than your fist, and white and grey ruffles, whistling like blackbirds, by their pretty tricks did away with the bad impression made by these sinister neighbours.

[Illustration:  Cake Walk; Mother Etienne’s dream.]

This one was a regular little mother, that one had just been sweeping out the yard, another was the living image of the Count’s servant when he followed his master on his walks, carrying under his arm a shawl or a sunshade.  An orang-outang, an elderly peasant, whose four big hands were clasped, suggested to her how useful it would be to have a helper like that to milk the cows.  It would go twice as fast with four hands.  What a lot of precious time it would save.

And many other queer things came into her head.  That yowling dog, that sharp-faced rabbit, are the type who come on fair-days to cry their papers, sell their toys, etc.—­a noisy, rough crew.  Goodness gracious!  Where was Mother Etienne’s absurd dream leading her?  She, whose life was always so calm, and who, to tell the truth, with Germaine, were rather like the two little monkeys at the corner of the fire-place, hands clasped under their aprons, feet on foot-warmers, and little pointed handkerchiefs on their heads.

At this personal picture everything turned as though by enchantment into one huge, vast medley, which ended in a general cake-walk of the whole menagerie, passing before the tired eyes of Mother Etienne, roaring, bellowing, mewing, whistling, howling, whinnying, and braying.  Poor Mother Etienne was thoroughly exhausted.

CHAPTER IX

MOTHER ETIENNE’S FORTUNE

When she woke up the good woman thought of her small fortune.  She gave it for safe keeping into the hands of her lawyer, M. La Plume, while she was making up her mind how she should dispose of it.  She wanted plenty of time to think it over.  She had already decided to give Germaine a dowry, for the whole thing was largely owing to her.  She knew that she and Petit-Jacques were in love.

“They will make a fine couple,” she thought, “and later on how pleased I shall be to have a nice family around me—­with dear children who will love and care for me.”