That is true, they ought to have a dog, if it were only to give the
alarm. Not a big dog. Heavens! what would they do with a big dog? He
would eat their heads off. But a little dog (in Normandy they say
"quin"), a little puppy who would bark.

As soon as everyone had left, Mme. Lefevre discussed this idea of a dog
for some time. On reflection she made a thousand objections, terrified at
the idea of a bowl full of soup, for she belonged to that race of
parsimonious country women who always carry centimes in their pocket to
give alms in public to beggars on the road and to put in the Sunday
collection plate.

Rose, who loved animals, gave her opinion and defended it shrewdly. So it
was decided that they should have a dog, a very small dog.

They began to look for one, but could find nothing but big dogs, who
would devour enough soup to make one shudder. The grocer of Rolleville
had one, a tiny one, but he demanded two francs to cover the cost of
sending it. Mme. Lefevre declared that she would feed a "quin," but would
not buy one.

The baker, who knew all that occurred, brought in his wagon one morning a
strange little yellow animal, almost without paws, with the body of a
crocodile, the head of a fox, and a curly tail--a true cockade, as
big as all the rest of him. Mme. Lefevre thought this common cur that
cost nothing was very handsome. Rose hugged it and asked what its name
was.

"Pierrot," replied the baker.