"Do not ruin me, I conjure you! I have not stolen your cat!"
"How is it in your house, then?"
"I have it from a little boy named Faribole; he got this cat for me, which I have long desired to have, on account of his supernatural shape and appearance, to figure in my cabalistic conjurations. This is the truth, the whole truth. I beg of you that your mistress will not disturb me."
"Do not ruin me, I conjure you!"
"Madame the Countess will act as she thinks proper," responded Mother Michel, haughtily; and she vanished with her cat.
She made but one step from the house of Madame Bradamor to that of Madame de la Grenouillère; one would have said that Mother Michel had on the seven-league boots of little Tom Thumb. She did not linger in the parlor, when she arrived out of breath and unable to speak a word, but carried Moumouth straight to the Countess.
On recognizing the animal, the Countess gave so loud a cry of joy that it was heard as far as the Place de la Carrousel.
Lustucru assisted at this touching scene. At the sight of the cat he was so dumbfounded that his reason wavered for a moment. He imagined that the cat, so many times saved, was a fantastic being, capable of speaking, like the beasts in the fairy-tales, and he said to himself with a shiver: "I am lost! Moumouth is going to denounce me!"
