"Break his back for him, the rascally Gargousse," said the prisoners.

"And he did lay it on with a good heart," answered Pique-Vinaigre. "You
should have heard how Gargousse yelled, seen how he gnashed his teeth,
jumped, danced here and there; but Auvergnat trimmed him up with his club,
saying, 'Do you like it? then here is some more!' Unfortunately, apes are
like cats, they have nine lives. Gargousse was as cunning as he was wicked.
When he saw, as I may say, what kind of wood was burning for him, at the
very thickest moment of the torrent, he cut a last caper, fell flat down at
the foot of the tree, kicked a moment, and then shammed dead, not budging
any more than a log. The Auvergnat wished nothing more; believing the ape
done for, he cleared out, never to put his feet in Cut-in-half's drum
again. But the vagabond Gargousse watched him out of the corner of his eye,
all wounded as he was, and as soon as he saw himself alone and Auvergnat at
a distance, he gnawed the cord with his teeth. The Boulevard Monceau, where
he had had his dance, was very near Little Poland; the ape knew the road as
well as he did his prayers. He slowly went off then, crawling along, and
arrived at his master's, who swore and foamed to see his pet ape thus
served out. But this is not all; from that moment Gargousse had preserved
such furious spite against all children in general, that Cut-in-half,
though not very tender-hearted, had not dared to let any of them lead him
out, for fear of an accident; for Gargousse would have been capable of
strangling or devouring a child, and the little fellows would rather have
allowed themselves to be slashed by their master than approach the ape."

"I must most decidedly go and eat my soup," said the keeper, making a
movement toward the door; "Pique-Vinaigre would make the birds come down
from the trees to hear him. I do not know wherever he has fished up this
story."