"What is it? Do you want to get out of here?" asked Mother Michel.
Moumouth made several affirmative capers in the air.
"Decidedly," she added, "this cat is not contented anywhere but in the parlor."
She rose and withdrew, preceded by Moumouth, who bounded with joy.
A quarter of an hour afterward the steward had prepared a most appetizing hash composed of the breast of chicken, the best quality of bread, and other ingredients justly esteemed by dainty eaters. After adding a large dose of the "Death to Rats," he set the hash down in an adjoining room, and, opening the parlor door, cried:
"Monsieur is served!!"
Moumouth is pleased to see the Hash.
On beholding this delicate dish, Moumouth thrilled with pleasure, for, to tell the truth, he was rather greedy. He stretched his nose over the plate, and then suddenly retreated, arching his back. A sickening and infectious odor had mounted to his nostrils. He made a tour round the plate, took another sniff, and again retreated. This animal, full of sagacity, had scented the poison.
"Well, that is very extraordinary," said Mother Michel; and, having vainly offered the food to her cat, she went to find Lustucru, to inform him what had occurred.