been more to the purpose if he had said, ‘Monsieur Dumas, may I incommode you with my monkey and my parrot?’ However, after a little bargaining, I bought both animals, as well as a cage for the monkey and a perch for the parrot; and as soon as I arrived at home, I introduced them to Michel.
‘This,’ said Michel, ‘is the green monkey of Senegal—Cercopithecus sabœa.’
I looked at Michel in the greatest astonishment. ‘Do you know Latin, Michel?’
‘I don’t know Latin, but I know my “Dictionary of Natural History.”’
‘Oh, indeed! And do you know what bird this is?’ I asked, showing him the parrot.
‘To be sure I know it,’ said Michel. ‘It is the blue and yellow macaw—Macrocercus afararanna. Oh, sir, why did you not bring a female as well as a male?’
‘What is the use, Michel, since parrots will not breed in this country?’
‘There you make a mistake, sir; the blue macaw will breed in France.’
‘In the south, perhaps?’
‘It need not be in the south, sir.’
‘Where then?’
‘At Caen.’
‘At Caen? I did not know Caen had a climate which permits parrots to rear their young. Go and fetch my gazetteer.’
‘You will soon see,’ said Michel as he brought it. I read: ‘Caen, capital of the department of Calvados, upon the Orne and the Odon: 223 kilometres west of Paris, 41,806 inhabitants.’
‘You will see,’ said Michel, ‘the parrots are coming.’
‘Great trade in plaster, salt, wood—taken by English in 1346—retaken by the French &c, &c.—never mind the date—That is all, Michel.’
‘What! Your dictionary never says that the arara-
