taught me and which we loved, this charming little refrain about the three cocks:—
Cocorico oooo
Quand je veux, je peux.
(Le jeune coq.)
Cocorico oooo
Quand je peux, je veux.
(Coq d'âge moyen.)
Cocorico ooooo
Que vous êtes heureux.
(Le vieux coq.)
Oh, how we did pity you, poor old man! And we did not allow feathers to grow in this hen coup, but, willy-nilly, spurs and uniform of some attaché de la suite.
Another character was General Tolstoi, whom I have already mentioned. He came very often to see us, especially when we were in Petrograd; he frequently spoke Russian and recounted interminably long stories in that language which I regret to say used to make me yawn, as I could not always follow them, and just to tease me, at the most critical part of the story, he rapidly changed from Russian into French so that my ears should receive the full benefit of it all. Quel toupet!
One evening, he told us of how he had once climbed up a tree, and from there had had an uninterrupted view over a high fence, behind which, apparently believing themselves to be sheltered from inquisitive eyes, some members
