I was so surprised by this preposterous question that I stood with mouth closed.
The captain declared:
"Well, I have eaten them.
They are perfect to the taste.
I have eaten all the flowers that are here. Some are good; some are not so good; and some don't amount to much. But, as for me, I eat everything."
He winked, clacked his tongue, tapped his belly, and repeated in a louder voice, in which an accent of defiance was uppermost:
"I eat everything, I do." The way in which the captain had just proclaimed this strange confession of faith revealed to me that his vanity in life was to eat everything.
I amused myself in humoring his mania.
"And you are right, Captain."
"Surely," he answered, not without pride.
"And it is not only plants that I eat; I eat animals also,—animals that nobody else has eaten,—animals that are not known. I eat everything, I do."
We continued our walk among the flower-beds, through the narrow paths where pretty corollas, blue, yellow, and red, were swaying in the breeze.
And, as he looked at the flowers, it seemed to me that the captain's belly gave little starts of joy.
His tongue passed over his chapped lips with a slight smack.
He said to me further:
"And I am going to confess to you. There are no insects, no birds, no earth-worms that I have not eaten.
I have eaten skunks and snakes, rats and crickets and caterpillars. I have eaten everything. It is well known in the neighborhood.
When they find a beast, dead or alive, a beast unknown to anybody, they say to themselves:
'I must take it to Captain Mauger.'
They bring it to me, and I eat it. In winter especially, when it is very cold, unknown birds pass this way, coming from America, or from a greater distance perhaps. They bring them to me, and I eat them.
I will bet that there is not a man in the world who has eaten as many things as I have.
I eat everything."
The walk over, we returned to sit down under the acacia.
And I was getting ready to leave, when the captain cried:
"Oh!
I must show you something curious,—something that you have never seen, I am sure."
And he called in a loud voice:
"Kleber!
Kleber!" Between two calls he explained to me: "Kleber is my ferret.
A phenomenon!"
And he called again:
"Kleber!
Kleber!"
Then, on a branch above us, between green and golden leaves, there appeared a pink snout and two little black, sharp, bright eyes.
"Oh!
I knew well that he was not far away.
Come, come here, Kleber!
Psstt!"
The animal crept along the branch, ventured upon the trunk, and descended carefully, burying its claws in the bark.
His body, covered with white fur and marked with pale yellow spots, had the supple movements, the graceful undulations, of a serpent.
He touched ground, and in two bounds was on the knees of the captain, who began to caress him joyfully.
"Oh! the good Kleber!
Oh! the charming little Kleber!"
He turned to me:
"Did you ever see a ferret as tame as that?
He follows me about the garden everywhere, like a little dog.
I have only to call him, and he is there directly, his tail frisking, his head lifted.
He eats with us, sleeps with us.
Indeed, I love the little beast as if he were a person.
Why, Mademoiselle Celestine, I have refused three hundred francs for him. I would not sell him for a thousand francs,—no, not for two thousand francs.