in a delirium.
He made his porter a present of three louis.
That evening, on his return to his own chamber, he danced a gavotte, using his thumb and forefinger as castanets, and he sang the following song:"Jeanne est nee a Fougere "Amour, tu vis en elle;
Vrai nid d''une bergere;
Car c''est dans sa prunelle
J''adore son jupon,Que tu mets ton carquois.
Fripon.
Narquois!
"Moi, je la chante, et j''aime, Plus que Diane meme, Jeanne et ses durs tetons Bretons."[61][61] "Jeanne was born at Fougere, a true shepherd''s nest; I adore her petticoat, the rogue.
"Love, thou dwellest in her; For ''tis in her eyes that thou placest thy quiver, sly scamp!
"As for me, I sing her, and I love, more than Diana herself, Jeanne and her firm Breton breasts."
Then he knelt upon a chair, and Basque, who was watching him through the half-open door, made sure that he was praying.
Up to that time, he had not believed in God.
At each succeeding phase of improvement, which became more and more pronounced, the grandfather raved.
He executed a multitude of mechanical actions full of joy; he ascended and descended the stairs, without knowing why.
A pretty female neighbor was amazed one morning at receiving a big bouquet; it was M. Gillenormand who had sent it to her.
The husband made a jealous scene.