By my side was the empty bowl in which the concierge had brought me my cafe au lait
and the fragment of croissant which I had not had appetite enough to eat.
The little cochon de lait
! Look at his legs, mamma, and his hands and fingernails,--real finger-nails.
"Nous boirons du lait, sur l'herbe fraiche," added De Griers with the snarl almost of a wild beast.
"Du lait, de l'herbe fraiche"--the idyll, the ideal of the Parisian bourgeois--his whole outlook upon "la nature et la verite"!
I suppose you admire a man with the complexion of a cochon de lait