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The sow metamorphosed into a woman replied with an amiable smile: "I am Mme. Becoeur, Monsieur." I thought that I must be dreaming. None who did not witness the sight could form any idea of it. I will, however, endeavour to depict something of it. I will simply recount what I saw with my own eyes.
It was a sign, as a matter of fact, a picture of a young and pretty woman, decolletee, wearing an enormous beplumed hat and carrying an infant in her arms; the whole in the style of the chimney boards of the time of Louis XVIII. Above the picture stood out this inscription in big letters: Mme. Midwife "Madam," said I, "I want to see Mme. Becoeur."
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