With this animal, which he called Pistache, he was often shut up for hours alone, superintending, as every one supposed, its education.
Pistache, on a signal from his master, placed himself on this line, raised himself on his hind paws, and holding in his front paws a wand with which clothes used to be beaten, he began to dance upon the line with as many contortions as a rope-dancer.
Pistache went again around the circle, but stopped at no one, and at last went to the door and began to scratch and bark.
Pistache made violent signs that it was, by raising and lowering his head eight or ten times successively.
"Gentlemen, you see," said the duke to those present, who dared not even smile, "that it is the `Illustrious Coxcomb' who is the greatest thief in the world; at least, according to Pistache."
The first part of the entertainment being concluded Pistache was desired to say what o'clock it was; he was shown Monsieur de Chavigny's watch; it was then half-past six; the dog raised and dropped his paw six times; the seventh he let it remain upraised.
Then the duke put to Pistache this difficult question, who was the greatest thief in the world?
"Gentlemen!" -- there was a profound silence in the room when the duke again addressed them -- "do you not remember that the Duc de Guise taught all the dogs in Paris to jump for Mademoiselle de Pons, whom he styled `the fairest of the fair?' Pistache is going to show you how superior he is to all other dogs.
"Now, Pistache, my good dog, jump the height of this cane for Madame de Montbazon."
"But," interposed Monsieur de Chavigny, "it seems to me that Pistache is only doing what other dogs have done when they jumped for Mademoiselle de Pons."
"Stop," said the duke, "Pistache, jump for the queen." And he raised his cane six inches higher.