In effect, he showered on Moumouth so many kindnesses and caresses and attentions, that the cat, although naturally suspicious, conceived a lively attachment for Faribole, followed him with pleasure, teased him, and invited him to frolics. Mother Michel was nearly jealous of the small boy; Father Lustucru, who had ideas of his own, laughed in his sleeve, and rubbed his hands together.
The steward, one evening, ordered Faribole to come to his chamber, and after closing the door carefully and assuring himself that no one was listening, he said:—
"Moumouth is your friend; you have followed my recommendations exactly."
"I shall remain in the house—is it not so?"
"Probably. You find yourself very well here?"
"Without doubt! I, who lived on black bread, I make four good meals a day. I had a wretched blouse, full of holes, and patched trousers, and now I am dressed like a prince. I suffer no more from cold, and, instead of lying out under the stars, I go to sleep every night in a comfortable bed, where I dream of gingerbread and fruit-cake."
Father Lustucru rested his chin on the palm of his right hand, and fixing his piercing eyes upon Faribole, said to him:—
"Suppose you were obliged to take up again with the vagabond life from which I lifted you?"
"I believe I should die with shame!"
"Then you would do anything to preserve your present position?"