"Little mouse, my friend! Come out, for now nobody is about and we can chat at our ease."
The mouse showed its little snout from behind the bookcase and came out, little by little, with justifiable fear.
"Come now, draw near, and don't make me raise my voice, I don't know whether they can hear us. Listen to what I have to tell you. You must know, my good friend, that I have always felt a great affection for your race, by reason of a tradition which has been preserved in my family for many years. According to this, one of our ancestors, a beautiful Angora cat—I don't know exactly whether it was my great-grandfather or my great-great-grandfather—was once very ill and without resources, lying on the miserable straw of a garret, when a compassionate mouse brought him some cheese-rinds and, I suppose, some other eatables right up to his own bed. He was going to take them when another mouse, of disagreeable appearance, with some red marks on its back, drew near and took away the food, taking advantage of the fact that my great-grandfather had rheumatism and could not move.
"Since then we have decided to kill all the descendants of that wicked fellow who made our relative die of hunger, and also to reward the one who was so good to him in time of trouble."
"That appears quite right to me," said the mouse.
"Listen, by the by: do you know it seems to me that you have some red spots on your back?"
The mouse was startled and said that his good friend the cat must have cobwebs in his eyes.
"Really, I am very shortsighted, and it would not be at all extraordinary if I were mistaken. I will come near in order to recognise you better."
He had no sooner approached than, seizing him with his claws, he began to shout:
"Master! Master! Here is the mouse!"