Would you have an example?  You are sleeping peacefully in a ray of the sun that covers the threshold of the kitchen with pearls.  The earthenware pots are amusing themselves by elbowing and nudging one another on the edge of the shelves trimmed with paper lace-work.  The copper stewpans play at scattering spots of light over the smooth white walls.  The motherly stove hums a soft tune and dandles three saucepans blissfully dancing; and, from the little hole that lights up its inside, defies the good dog who cannot approach, by constantly putting out at him its fiery tongue.  The clock, bored in its oak case, before striking the august hour of meal time, swings its great gilt navel to and fro; and the cunning flies tease your ears.  On the glittering table lie a chicken, a hare, three partridges, besides other things which are called fruits—­peaches, melons, grapes—­and which are all good for nothing.  The cook guts a big silver fish and throws the entrails (instead of giving them to you!) into the dust-bin.  Ah, the dust-bin!  Inexhaustible treasury, receptacle of windfalls, the jewel of the house!  You shall have your share of it, an exquisite and surreptitious share; but it does not do to seem to know where it is.  You are strictly forbidden to rummage in it.  Man in this way prohibits many pleasant things, and life would be dull indeed and your days empty if you had to obey all the orders of the pantry, the cellar and the dining-room.  Luckily, he is absent-minded and does not long remember the instructions which he lavishes.  He is easily deceived.  You achieve your ends and do as you please, provided you have the patience to await the hour.  You are subject to man, and he is the one god; but you none the less have your own personal, exact and imperturbable morality, which proclaims aloud that illicit acts become most lawful through the very fact that they are performed without the master’s knowledge.  Therefore, let us close the watchful eye that has seen.  Let us pretend to sleep and to dream of the moon....

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....