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PUTOIS
I
HEN we were children, our tiny garden, which you could go from end to end of in twenty strides, seemed to us a vast universe, made up of joys and terrors," said Monsieur Bergeret.
"Do you remember Putois, Lucien?" asked Zoé, smiling as was her wont, with lips compressed and her nose over her needlework.
"Do I remember Putois! … Why, of all the figures which passed before my childhood's eyes, that of Putois remains the clearest in my memory. Not a single feature of his face or of his character have I forgotten. He had a long head. …"
"A low forehead," added Mademoiselle Zoé.
Then antiphonally, in a monotonous voice, with mock gravity, the brother and sister recited the following points of a kind of police description:
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