Mother Michel hastened to visit the store-room.
Presently he came to her out of breath, and said:—
Illustration: Mother Michel encounters nothing but Rats.
"We have him at last! I am nearly certain that he is rummaging in the cellar."
And Mother Michel ventured into the gloomy vaults of the cellar, where she encountered nothing but rats.
It was near the close of the day that Lustucru pronounced these words, which a popular song has happily preserved for us:—
| "Oh, Mother Michel, Your cat is not lost; He is up in the garret A-hunting the rats, With his little straw gun And his sabre of wood!" |
The words were full of a bitter raillery, which Father Lustucru was unable to disguise. To pretend that Moumouth was hunting rats with his little straw gun and his wooden sword was to suppose something quite unlikely, for nobody ever saw a cat make use of such arms. But the agonies of Mother Michel had so confused her mind, that she noticed only what could give her a gleam of hope.
"He is in the garret!" she cried, without paying attention to the rest of the verse. "Let us hasten there, my dear sir; let us search for him. Give me your arm, for I am so nervous, so troubled, so harassed by fatigue, that I have not the strength to get up alone."