reflected what he certainly would never have wished to see. He saw his head embellished with a magnificent pair of donkey's ears!
Only think of poor Pinocchio's sorrow, shame, and despair!
He began to cry and roar, and he beat his head against the wall; but the more he cried the longer his ears grew: they grew, and grew, and became hairy towards the points.
At the sound of his loud outcries a beautiful little Marmot that lived on the first floor came into the room. Seeing the puppet in such grief she asked earnestly:
'What has happened to you, my dear fellow-lodger?'
'I am ill, my dear little Marmot, very ill . . . and of an illness that frightens me. Do you understand counting a pulse?'
'A little.'
'Then feel and see if by chance I have got fever.'
The little Marmot raised her right forepaw; and after having felt Pinocchio's pulse she said to him, sighing:
'My friend, I am grieved to be obliged to give you bad news! . . .'
'What is it?'
'You have got a very bad fever! . . .'
'What fever is it?'
'It is donkey fever.'
