This solemnity, however,
met its Waterloo in his frank and stupid eyes, not to say his trilogy of
cheerful chins--so much so that I felt like crying "Wie gehts!" and
cracking him on his huge back. Such an animal! A contented animal, a
bulbous animal; the only living hippopotamus in captivity, fresh from the
Nile.
He contemplated me with a natural, under the circumstances, curiosity. He
even naively contemplated me. As if I were hay. My hay-coloured head
perhaps pleased him, as a hippopotamus. He would perhaps eat me. He
grunted, exposing tobacco-yellow tusks, and his tiny eyes twittered.
Finally he gradually uttered, with a thick accent, the following
extremely impressive dictum:
"_C'est l'americain._"
I felt much pleased, and said "_Oui, j'suis americain, Monsieur._"
He rolled half over backwards in his creaking chair with wonderment at
such an unexpected retort. He studied my face with a puzzled air,
appearing slightly embarrassed that before him should stand _l'americain_
and that _l'americain_ should admit it, and that it should all be so
wonderfully clear. I saw a second dictum, even more profound than the
first, ascending from his black vest. The chain and fob trembled with
anticipation.
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