To Leon Wérth

I ask children who may read this book to forgive me for dedicating it to a grown-up. I have a genuine excuse: this grown-up is the best friend I have in the world. I have another excuse: this grown-up understands everything, even books for children. I have a third excuse: this grown-up lives in France, where he is cold and hungry. He needs a lot of consoling. If all these excuses are not enough, I will dedicate the book to the child whom this grown-up used to be, once upon a time. All grown-ups started off as children (though few of them remember). So I hereby correct my dedication:

To Leon Wérth
when he was a little boy afyTqjNgMfUs5Tpf1u88k27Z9nsHLoD56bEqrjJWl55YloGgkb6kYLKk6ugfF5sf