Finally, one day—­a day I shall never forget—­my nurse took me to see my uncle, Captain Victor, who had invited me to breakfast.  I admired my uncle a great deal, as much because he had fired the last French cartridge at Waterloo as because he used to make with his own hands, at my mother’s table, certain chapons-a-l’ail, which he afterwards put into the chicory-salad.  I thought that was very fine!  My Uncle Victor also inspired me with much respect by his frogged coat, and still more by his way of turning the whole house upside down from the moment he came into it.  Even now I cannot tell just how he managed it, but I can affirm that whenever my Uncle Victor found himself in any assembly of twenty persons, it was impossible to see or to hear anybody but him.  My excellent father, I have reason to believe, never shared my admiration for Uncle Victor, who used to sicken him with his pipe, gave him great thumps on the back by way of friendliness, and accused him of lacking energy.  My mother, though always showing a sister’s indulgence to the captain, sometimes advised him to fondle the brandy bottle a little less frequently.  But I had no part either in these repugnances or these reproaches, and Uncle Victor inspired me with the purest enthusiasm.  It was therefore with a feeling of pride that I entered into the little lodging-house where he lived, in the Rue Guenegaud.  The entire breakfast, served on a small table close to the fireplace, consisted of pork-meats and confectionery.

The Captain stuffed me with cakes and pure wine.  He told me of numberless injustices to which he had been a victim.  He complained particularly of the Bourbons; and as he neglected to tell me who the Bourbons were, I got the idea—­I can’t tell how—­that the Bourbons were horse-dealers established at Waterloo.  The Captain, who never interrupted his talk except for the purpose of pouring out wine, furthermore made charges against a number of morveux, of jeanfesses, and “good-for-nothings” whom I did not know anything about, but whom I hated from the bottom of my heart.  At dessert, I thought I heard the Captain say my father was a man who could be led anywhere by the nose; but I am not quite sure that I understood him.  I had a buzzing in my ears; and it seemed to me that the table was dancing.

My uncle put on his frogged coat, took his chapeau tromblon, and we descended to the street, which seemed to me singularly changed.  It looked to me as if I had not been in it before for ever so long a time.  Nevertheless, when we came to the Rue de la Seine, the idea of my doll suddenly returned to my mind, and excited me in an extraordinary way.  My head was on fire.  I resolved upon a desperate expedient.  We were passing before the window.  She was there, behind the glass—­with her red cheeks, and her flowered petticoat, and her long legs.

“Uncle,” I said, with a great effort, “will you buy that doll for me?”