The answering miaow was almost too deep for a violoncello's capacity. Indeed to call it a miaow was an insult to the jungle noise it was.
"The people have gone, Pierrette. Do come and talk to me. I'll give you all my attention."
Pierrette looked steadily at her friend from large round eyes, the pupils of which distended by the approach of night glowed in the firelight. Presently she drew near to Mary's chair, upon the brocade of which she defiantly sharpened her claws before jumping up with a trill on the black silk lap to which she had been invited. Here she settled down couchant to regard the fire.
"Dear little cat," Mary murmured.
Pierrette's ears twitched back to take in the endearment; the faintest quiver of her tail showed that she had heard, understood, and agreed with the description of herself.
"I was saying to myself that it was getting quite like old times in Paris."
The cat began to purr in approbation of European peace.
Mary stroked Pierrette's back, which was the color of café-au-lait, soft and glossy as chiffon velvet. Contact with the small and shapely creature upon her knee was soothing. The grace and youth and vitality of the cat were so superabundant that the human being whom she had decided to favor by making use of was refreshed. It was impossible to feel old with this pulsating life so near to one. Mary patted her affectionately.
"Darling little cat!"
Pierrette's tail really wagged in response to such genuine admiration and love, and because her tail could not express quite all her appreciation she dug her claws into Mary's knee and pressed her warm body closer than before, purring now with a steady monotony of pleasure.