“Ah, base thing!” said the griffiness, appearing to weep; “you are in love with the cat, I see it; go and marry her, poor dwarf that she is, and leave me to die of grief.”
In vain the fox protested that he did not care a straw for the cat; nothing could now appease the griffiness but his positive assurance that come what would poor puss should be brought to the cave and boiled for the griffin’s soup.
“But how will you get her here?” said the griffiness.
“Ah, leave that to me,” said Reynard. “Only put a basket out of the window and draw it up by a cord; the moment it arrives at the window, be sure to clap your claw on the cat at once, for she is terribly active.”
“Tush!” answered the heiress; “a pretty griffiness I should be if I did not know how to catch a cat!”
“But this must be when your father is out?” said Reynard.
“Certainly; he takes a stroll every evening at sunset.”
“Let it be to-morrow, then,” said Reynard, impatient for the treasure.
This being arranged, Reynard thought it time to decamp. He stole down the stairs again, and tried to filch some of the treasure by the way; but it was too heavy for him to carry, and he was forced to acknowledge to himself that it was impossible to get the treasure without taking the griffiness (whose back seemed prodigiously strong) into the bargain.
He returned home to the cat, and when he entered her house, and saw how ordinary everything looked after the jewels in the griffin’s cave, he quite wondered how he had ever thought the cat had the least pretensions to good looks. However, he concealed his wicked design, and his mistress thought he had never appeared so amiable.